I think I must have bought the very last ticket for this concert after baulking at the price and tussling with indecision, then deciding to go with it. I never saw Orange Juice back in the day: we were having a parallel modest career with Helen and the Horns, and unless we were sharing a bill with someone, you rarely got to see any contemporary pop musicians gigging. But of course I bought that album and delighted in the language and seemingly careless construction (or rather deconstruction) of the songwriting, and Edwyn's casual, insouciant singing style. That bass-y chest tone came naturally to him, and his pitching was almost like a Highland road through a mountain landscape: rolling, forging, trembling and faltering. Falling and Laughing!
They had a reputation for drinking that echoed across the UK as the splaying routes of touring artists spread and intersected: "Guess who we had here last week! Guess what they did!', said the social secretaries of colleges and the promoters of small venues. But at the same time, Edwyn's star began to rise. His songs became popified both through collaboration and through his increasingly-honed writing skills, and they started to become polished vehicles for his singing style.
Apologies for the digressions, but it's Sunday and I wasn't even going to write about this concert. The tour is going to be well documented, especially by articulate fanes who have been moved to tears by the shows they've been at. Beforehand, I went to Gina's birthday party. I gave her a melodica, because they are such fun. Even early on, her house was filling with friends and pop stars. I had a nice chat with Suzanne Ratigan, and Richard Boon told me about the Buzzcock's Glasgow gig, where a pre-fame Orange Juice turned up at load-in time at the venue to help the band get their amps and drums into the place. Now that's dedication for you! After a couple of hours in great company, I ran to the tube station and then across Embankment Bridge to the Royal Festival Hall.
The RFH was packed and humming. The staff were visibly excited and wanted to talk to the punters, which was extremely sweet. I heard the main support band The Hanging Stars do a great set from outside the door; I couldn't cope with climbing in the dark to the almost-perpendicular seating up there in the Gods. Before that, I'd bumped into Billy Reeves and his pals and had a jolly yak (probably mostly me, actually: I was very excited). Once the lights went up, I was able to climb the seat mountain and took my last-seat-going at the end of a row, just in front of Andy (from David's Records in Letchworth), and his partner.
I'm won't go through it song by song, but I'm going to describe the night.
Edwyn is slow to walk across the stage, with his natty sliver-topped walking sticks. He has an assistant to help him to sit at a small table at the front of the stage and his name is picked out huge in lights behind him, and there are individual lights on stalks stick up amongst the musicians. Patrick from the The Hanging Stars is also in his backing band, and boy have they done their homework. It's not just the musical homework they've done, it's the etiquette. At no point do they worship, vamp-it-up-over, show off about, dominate, or interrupt Edwyn. He is the centre of our interest for the evening; he is a large, wispy presence who makes himself understood, though at times it is clear he still has language difficulties due to the enormous strokes he had several years ago. The band harmonise beautifully and respectfully and play flawlessly; he couldn't have found a better group of musicians to back him.
His voice is still there, powerful and deep. He tells us he is worried about the high notes, and that tonight his son can't be there because he's ill. But the band have stepped in and stepped up, and the high notes are there too. It's only when he stands up to sing halfway through the set that we lose the power of his voice but I think everyone understands how much he needs to do this, just to prove that he can. Here comes Dennis Bovell, shining in a blue suit, to join him in a song. Dennis is clearly delighted to be there. What a collaboration that was! The lady sitting next to me is a mega-whooper and arm-waver and I wish she'd shut up but we all enjoy music in different ways, and gradually I learn to tune her out. There is a magnificent guitar solo by Patrick Ralla. We hear Orange Juice songs and we hear Rip It Up, a song that seems to personify Edwyn's take on life and his music in one glorious snowball of a song. We are all with him, every single person in the huge audience. There are a lot of women who know his material as well as the men, which is possibly quite unusual for an indie artist. Edwyn is self-deprecating, but also full of humour and clearly delighted by his reception. Paul Cook and Vic Godard join him for a song, Vic in his sheepskin bomber jacket, mates from way back; it is a charming moment. we hear songs from the new album, which is so good that I went out and bought a record player just to play it on. Howzat, Edwyn!
Goodbye... I think it's time to go and head for the exit to avoid the crowds. But no! Here he comes for an encore. We collectively will him across the stage, and a member of staff kindly motions me to a fold-down seat by the exit doors where I can sit and watch again. James Kirk and the original OJ drummer come on for Felicity, the former being really the only showoff of the night, but who can blame him? What a great song! And there is a final goodbye song from Edwyn, who has been a steady and trustworthy performer for the entire full set. All of us give him a standing ovation, including the staff.
He thanks his helper, and leaves the stage to go off on the next date of the tour. I leave with the feeling that the energy of the crowd is willing him on every night, fuelling him with love. People have been in tears, and every single song has elicited an intense sort of listening and an equally intense flood of applause.
I think each of us left to go home with a different thought to take with us. Really good music has that effect: it is both personal and collective at the same time.
On the tube platform on the way home, the Edwyn Collins experts were in full flow, Edwynsplaining all sorts of things to their patient companions. I was playing the songs again in my head, marvelling at the audacity of ending a song with the words 'Ha, ha'.
Photo nicked from Robert Rotifer's Facebook page.
