Wilko Johnson
It would be easy to get a
little mawkish over the news that one of your favourite musician was dying. The
temptation to crawl with a sentimental and slushy pen over career highlights is
palpable. That situation is impossible with Wilko Johnson. The legendary r ‘n’
b guitarist announced in January that he had been diagnosed with terminal
pancreatic cancer. He had refused debilitating chemotherapy which would only be
palliative at best and instead was choosing to wring the most out of his remaining
good health by going back on tour, and recording new material.
This isn’t an approach that
would work for everyone. But it is typical of Wilko’s unique way of dealing
with life’s challenges. First the music media and then mainstream news began
picking up on the story when he consistently and genuinely used terms like
‘uplifting’, ‘inspiring’, and ‘euphoric’ to describe his predicament. I
challenge anyone not to be moved by the interview he gave to Radio 4’s Front Row a few weeks ago where he put his condition into perspective and talkes with such warmth about his family, his music and his priorities.
On a more personal level, my
challenge was about getting tickets for his farewell gigs. I’ve seen Wilko play
live nearly every year for the best part of a fifth of a century and felt that
as an act of loyalty I should be there.
Respect here to the promoters and management who resisted the temptation
to hike up ticket prices, play overly large venues or extend the tour. I sat
online for an hour or so after the tickets went on sale and bagged three at £20
for Koko in Camden. I confess to a few long moments of internet anxiety during
that morning. Each time my fumbling digits hit the ‘buy tickets’ button, I was
rebuffed with an auto-generated response declaring ‘This event is not
available. Please select another’. My blood pressure rose a little. But soon realised
that although the press release said tickets would be on sale at 9.30am, in
fact no-one had bothered to update the web links until about half past ten. That’s
precisely when I bought my tickets. This is the nocturnal entertainment
industry after all.
The first few gigs sold out
the same day and another at Koko was quickly added. It was no surprise. This
would be the last chance to see a genuinely influential and properly unique
British guitar genius who was choosing precisely the conditions under which he
would depart the scene.
Wilko’s profile has seen a
resurgence following the excellent Julien Temple biopic ‘Oil City Confidential’
in 2010 and last year’s biography ‘Looking Back At Me’. I just about managed to
get hold of a signed copy of the latter at the launch (blogpost here) last Summer. Though I have to confess that the book isn’t an easy read.
It is put together as a stream of consciousness. This is an approach that suits
Wilko’s character perfectly, but becomes a random and scattergun wander through
a few hobby horses and remembrances. From the fans viewpoint, I wanted to know
much more about the relationship with Lee Brilleaux, the Feelgood’s brilliant
vocalist (especially about his death), and the rest of the band; some
reflections and anecdotes about the writing and recording sessions; an honest
view about the reasons behind his split with the band and at least a nod to a
meaningful retrospective of his recording output since the Feelgoods. Apart
from all that it was reasonably entertaining I suppose…
The touts were mlling round
Koko in force by the time I turned up to the adjacent pub at 6.30pm. No
surprise, given the exposure the short tour had been given. They really are
scum bags. Reports of tickets being sold online for 100% mark ups abounded in
the weeks before the gig. Three lads in the boozer next to us had a spare one
to sell and went outside to find a real fan who could use it. They succeeded
but not before receiving abuse from touts who wanted to rob this geezer of £80
for the ticket.
Koko is a magnificent venue.
It’s a Victorian multi-tiered and domed music hall wrought in gilt and shiny
ceramics. It looks unprepossessing from the outside, possibly because the main
floor is buried 25 feet underground. On entering the edifice at pavement level,
it is quite a surprise to emerge from a little tunnel in to the auditorium at 1st
floor balcony level.
And what a treat to find
bottles of Theakstons Lightfoot nestling in the fridge behind the bar, rather
than tin cans of Worthington’s smoothflow at a fiver a gassy time. We tucked
into a round whilst trying to work out why Viv Albertine from The Slits, the
scheduled support act, had morphed into a terrible bastardisation of The
Buzzcocks crawling from the wreckage of a crash with Dr Feelgood’s wardrobe circa
1976. A terrible, one-dimensional punk band called Eight Rounds Rapid,
apparently.
Wilko, on the other,
beer-clenching hand, smashed the joint. He served up a furious, high octane performance that
was a life affirming celebration of all
that is good about real music. Here’s my full review for the GRTR website, so I won’t repeat all that now. Suffice to say his and
the band’s usual lofty standards were exceeded. The addition of a top of the
range PA courtesy of a better venue, and a packed crowd intent on Wilko feeling
their love simply enhanced the quality of the experience. As my mate said, it
was an “I was there” night.
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| Photo: (c) Simon Jay Price |
Long live Wilko. You are an
inspiration.
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