Skip to main content

The Illegal Eagles. Truro. 22nd November 2006

I love live music. It’s that breadbasket-as-the-bass drum, pounding in the chest thrill. Okay, they’re a bit loud, but it’s fun. For a moment there I came over a bit nostalgic, with the whole 70’s soft California rock scenario - their lead guitarist with long hair, a clipped beard, and wearing flared jeans. This is unfortunately accompanied by an unwelcome emotional response – wistful and, oh dear, a bit resentful. I actually heard the thought, ‘when anything felt possible.’ Teenagers do think this, and I suppose it’s true, if circumstances are favourable. At times like that, I feel like I’m in the Indiana Jones film where he seeks the Holy Grail, and the old knight says to the first guy, “You chose poorly.” It’s that simple. There’s still time to have some fun though, just not in a spring fresh body – and not with the wide eyes of innocence. Dear old Eagles, with their romantic ballads and coupledom songs, sweet. Great to hear Peaceful Easy Feeling, Take It to the Limit, One of Those Nights, Takin’ It Easy, Lyin’ Eyes, and of course Hotel California. Desperado makes my heart hurt.

The second half of the set is terrific with the audience singing along to the old favourites, and a fab selection of rock classics. When the band pause to talk us into a new number, some of the crowd yell out, “Get on with it, we wanna boogie!” - so they have to cut out the chit-chat and get back into the groove. I’m sitting directly behind the light and sound technicians, and the light show is quite a spectacle too, with the control board played like a piano, and the spotlights rotating and swooping around the auditorium. I was expecting sirens to wail. A great set, and The Illegal Eagles, now ten years old, send their audience home happy, so happy that a complete stranger pays for my car park ticket. Pay It Forward.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Running ‘till your nipples bleed

An email from a friend of mine arrives; she complains that, at work, she is routinely subjected to gruesome accounts of female colleagues’ intimate medical procedures and gynaecological problems. I am all commiseration because I, too, have had years of listening to workplace chats about periods, childbirth and sex lives. Oh please. Later, I wander off for a walk in the early evening sunshine and it is so silent and so beautiful that I flop down on the grass and lay awhile gazing out over the rolling fields, and the mouth of the river, and fall into a reverie. Two men pass by. A few minutes later sounds of women’s talk float nearer and, by the time the two females of the species draw level with me, I have risen up from my deliciously recumbent position in the meadow, alert and tense, something like a meerkat. “I do feel for her. Going down that IVF route is such an emotional roller coaster. I was never prepared for how terrible it was going to be.” I remain frozen in my meerkat position...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ian McEwan. Amsterdam. London: QPD, 1998

McEwan’s novel about ambition, personal betrayal and revenge features Clive, a modern composer trying to complete a major orchestral work, his friend Vernon, an editor trying to save his ailing newspaper, and Garmony, an unscrupulous right-wing politician on the rise. In common, all three have, in previous years, been lovers of recently dead Molly. They meet at her funeral and the story follows the next few weeks of the men’s lives. Vernon and Clive act as one another’s conscience, each infuriating the other. Which is more important, honesty, friendship and trust or Vernon’s newspaper and Clive’s symphony? The novel presents the difficulties of balancing personal and public morality, the importance of private shame and public reputation, the conflict between taking a moral decision for the greater good, or putting first ones own desires. Not just a simple exposé of a politician with a vulnerable side, Amsterdam is full of double standards and surprises, and takes a long, cynical look a...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ralph McTell, Truro, 19 April 2007

Ralph's mates from Pentewan have all turned up in a mini bus to hear him sing and play, and he walks onto the stage looking comfortable; he's amongst friends. He's a big man; very charismatic, with a warm smile and a beguiling aura of powerful gentleness. He's relaxed, we're relaxed, and he sits with his guitar, chatting easily between songs, and playing with an easy familiarity with us, and with his material. His guitar playing is intricate and playful; going from ragtime to blues to folk, and his voice is deep and rich. He comments that he's put together quite a serious programme for the two hours he's on stage; it's true that the lyrics are thoughtful and the subjects serious, but there is light material too; a tune about Laurel and Hardy, and one or two covers of old blues numbers. When he sings Streets of London there are happy sighs and the audience sing along very softly; as softly as a whisper. It feels as intimate as if we were just a few people...
Post a Comment
Read more