Kate Rusby
http://www.katerusby.com/
Sunday July 2, 2006
Alban Arena(St Albans, UK)
Kate Rusby Tour Schedule
“My stern gland needs greasing!� I said as Vic sat down next to us. Her eyes rolled as she realized that she would need to explain the remark to the rest of our clueless group.
“It’s his boat!� she said. “He needs some work done on his boat.�
Vic’s fella Andy used to work in a boatyard and was the ideal person to sort out my stern gland issues. I was hoping he would be at the party too but apparently he was away on tour.
“Who with?� I asked.
“Kate Rusby,� she replied, waiting for me to admit that I had never heard of her.
“Never heard of her,� I said.
“Folk music mate, not your thing,� she scolded.
“Hey, I have an eclectic musical taste I’ll have you know!� I retorted.
“Turin Brakes and a Mozart box set do not make an eclectic musical taste,� said Vic.
She had a point.
As it turned out Kate Rusby would be appearing on my doorstep at the end of that very week, at The Alban Arena in St Albans. After a couple of phone calls back and forth the deal was sealed. Not only would Andy come to my aid on the boat, but I could go to the gig with him that evening. It would be rude not to do a review at the same time.
Typing her name into Google I was feeling lucky, and it took me directly to the Kate Rusby
website.
Kate was pretty without a doubt, and not at all like the cider soaked folk singer I had expected. She’d been around for a while too, having several albums and a live DVD available on the site along with a string of awards and accolades. I listened to a couple of streamed song snatches and checked out her biography. Hailing from Barnsley in the North of England, I was sure she was going to sound like something from
Rita, Sue and Bob Too.
That Sunday, with my stern gland freshly greased, we set of to the venue. Kate was already there when we arrived. Sitting eating a biscuit in the dressing room, she was shorter than I had imagined.
“Are you that boat boy Andy went to see?� she asked as Andy and I walked in, rolling a strong but incredibly smooth northern English accent.
“Yeah I am; you must be Kate, thanks for the pass.� I replied.
“No problem.� she smiled and pointed at the teapot. “Grab a cuppa.�
Soon it was time for sound-check. I tagged along and sat in the wings. I dunno why, but I had no idea that Andy would actually be a performer. (All of my other mates in the industry are techs or sound engineers or lampies, and I’d assumed Andy would be the same.) As he stood there with his button accordion I began to get a feeling of where the night was headed. This was real folk music, all but the beards and real ale. I stayed to hear Andy’s squeezebox sound-check and then followed him back to help drink the rider.
As showtime approached I chatted with the band through the underground rabbit warren of corridors leading to the stage and auditorium. As I approached the stage I was collared by the tour manager. “I’ll get you a seat in the auditorium,� he said as I realized I had probably overstayed my welcome, what with just minutes to go before the show opened.
The auditorium was full for a sold out show so as the first song was almost done I pulled up a seat in the aisle next to a pillar.
Looking around I realized that I was probably the youngest person there, apart from the kids who had come to the show with their parents. This was Middle England’s finest: families from the suburbs, ladies who lunch, and a million miles away from my normal rock ‘n’ roll fare. Sitting there with a skinhead and tattoos on show under a white wife-beater vest, I felt somewhat incongruous amongst the middle aged conservative crowd. Taking a sip from my beer I focused on the stage.
Standing there in a pink summer dress, chatting with the crowd, Kate looked beautiful. The band took the opportunity to tune their instruments until John (Kate’s husband and fiddle player) signaled that he was ready and they launched into “The Goodman.� Fiddle, accordion, guitar, and double bass all seemed to gel sweetly together into the smooth syrup sound, but this could not distract from Kate’s voice. As the set rolled on it was clear that Kate was not a vocalist, she was a singer with an amazing voice. I sat in the aisle alone, completely won over by the harmonies, relaxed and deeply contented. I was smiling.
Just then there was a hand on my shoulder.
“Is anyone sitting here?� whispered the girl, pointing at the seat next to me.
“No, be my guest.� I responded, noticing how pretty she was as she settled into her seat.
“Sorry to distract you,� she whispered, “She’s fabulous isn’t she?�
“Yeah!� I said smiling. “I’m impressed!�
“I’m Bethany� said the girl “Do you work here?�
“I’m Tony,� I replied “And no, I’m kinda with the band.�
“Oh cool!� Bethany replied, obviously impressed.
As the interval arrived Bethany and I made our way to the bar in an attempt to re-hydrate, given that the mid-summer temperatures were stiflingly uncomfortable in the auditorium. It could have been the hypnotic effect of the music or it could have been the fact that Bethany was spectacularly pretty and disarmingly charming. Either way I was enjoying myself.
All too soon the interval was over and we re-took our seats eager for more. The band took the stage and Kate greeted us like old friends, and I felt that we were. She had won me over despite my prejudices. That was indeed an achievement worth applauding. The broke into “The Lark,� and we sat back, sipped water, and allowed ourselves to drift once more. The set was punctuated after each track by Kate’s comfortable easy chit chat; stories about her nephews, Andy’s new favourite dessert and how she keeps her plectrums in a girly pink tin on stage. Banal it may have been, but it complemented the mood perfectly and any more significant banter would have seemed out of place. As the set drew on, it was easy to slide into a deep, relaxed, trance-like state. The songs and the chat washed over you like a warm tide and there was no need to be alert or attentive. I soon found myself daydreaming about a lazy dusk on my boat with Kate’s soft voice drifting from my stereo as I watched the sun go down.
The upbeat Davy and William fitted well amongst the more prolific ballads; each seemed to flow effortlessly from one to the next culminating in a beautiful encore of Underneath the Stars. All too soon the gig was finished and the audience was filing out of the auditorium I sat in my seat with a warm chocolate fudge sauce feeling, not wanting to break the spell by standing up.
“Well it was lovely to meet you,� Bethany smiled coyly. “Wasn’t it a lovely evening?�
“Yeah, it was� I replied “Thank you.�
She gathered her bag and bottle water from beneath her seat.
“Listen, how about I give you my email address and I’ll send you a link to the review when it’s written?�
“Yeah, that would be cool.� She smiled.
Back in the changing room I reviewed my notes, only to find that I had made precious few. I’m not sure the specifics of the gig are at all important. I don’t think you could dissect the experience without ruining it. And that is exactly what that night was, an experience. One which made me forget my leaky boat and greasy stern gland, forget my folk music prejudices and settle into a beautifully comfortable escape, just for a couple of hours.
Back at my boat this morning I’m typing away on deck when Jim turns up.
“Hiya mate. What you up to?� he asks as he nears.
“Nothin’ much, just writing a gig review.�
“Any good?� he inquires as he unlocks his boat.
“Fabulous!� I reply. “I think I’m getting to be a bit of a hippy!�
