Hello Readers,
This time last week I was on a train from Chatham to London, crammed in like a sardine and surrounded by Gillingham supporters on their way to Wembley. To make things worse, I was staring down the barrel of a six hour coach journey to Liverpool.
Staying sane and comfortable on such a journey was easier than I thought, and I only felt really sick for the last 45 minutes or so as the coach took a bouncing detour across picturesque countryside to get to Warrington before finally arriving in Liverpool. I'll say this. It's not as glamorous as The Divine Comedy would have you believe.
There was little time to recover. I went straight to my B&B, checked in, grabbed a buffet style dinner from the local supermarket's deli counter and made the bus in seconds flat. Then I got lost in the centre of Liverpool. It's changed a lot since I was last there ten years ago, and I couldn't find my bearings. That's when I heard someone call my name. It was Wes Wren, front man with The Deccas, and he was in the wrong place. He should have been in the Cavern Club. He was due on stage in five minutes. I'd been fortunate to bump into him, and I was soon inside the Cavern Club, cider in hand courtesy of Wes.
The Deccas played a very strong set, stepping up to the occasion with just enough swagger, and a self-deprecating confession that to play the Cavern had been a lifelong ambition. They were very tight and focused, and kept it together even when Phil managed to blow up a house amp during the last song of the set - recovering brilliantly by attacking the mic and doubling up on the vocals with Wes, while Nathan cranked his Hammond up accordingly. I enjoyed hearing their take on the Medway sound pounding round the walls of that prestigious venue, and I took great pleasure in seeing how much the Deccas and their merry band of followers enjoyed themselves.
In Liverpool. On Sunday. With Suzanne Vega's song running through my head and the morning sun to my right I walked from my B&B near Sefton Park down to Toxteth Park Cemetery to take in a bit of light and shadow and collect my thoughts. Today was going to be a long day. The Lovedays were due to play a lunchtime set at the Cavern Pub, followed by the big one - a gig on the front stage at the Cavern Club in the evening. I could keep them busy by using the city as a backdrop for some promotional photography for a fair part of the day, but the waiting was bound to start to get to The Lovedays and their party at some point. In fact, the time passed more quickly that I thought it would, punctuated by the coming and going of different members of the group.
Walking into Mathew Street from the top and seeing Ben and Sam coming towards me from the bottom beaming from ear to ear was a pretty good start to the day's activites, and I immediately set about using the relatively empty street (it was still early) as my set. I took a series of shots of the two of them outside the Cavern Club, drawing on Keith Morris's pictures of Nick Drake and Jurgen Vollmer's Rock and and Roll photo of John Lennon as a starting point. The best of the resultant images accompanies this blog. After a leisurely walk to the docks and back, the rest of the band arrived at the Cavern Pub and it was time to get going.
In no time at all, The Lovedays were on. The pub was pretty full for the time of day, and the Liverpool supporters who had popped in for a couple of early ones before going to Anfield wasted no time in expressing their enthusiasm. "Now that's what it's all about" said one of them, pointing as his friends cheered and nodded in agreement. The Lovedays played a solid set, and were clearly enjoying themselves. At last, it was really happening. Oh, and the sound was excellent. Not sure about all the guitars in glass cabinets though. They looked like caged animals to me.
There were ten of us in the Lovedays' party at this point, and we wanted to see a few Beatle places. Rather than spending too much time and money on a coach tour, we hired two black cabs and off we went. We went to Strawberry Field, and I stood at those red gates just as I had ten years before with a a baby girl in my arms. Suddenly, I missed my family. I always do when I'm away from them. Still, there were photographs to be taken. There's a particularly funny shot that I haven't published, in which Ben turned around and pretended to wee against the wall beneath where the words Strawberry Field are perpetually repainted. One day, perhaps.
After that we went to Woolton, to St Peter's church to say hello to Eleanor Rigby, and then on to Penny Lane via John Lennon's childhood home on Menlove Avenue. I was the only one to get out of the taxi for this stop, crossing the road to grab a couple of shots for posterity. I'd spent a morning in Mathew Street crossing paths with the Ghosts of Beatles Past all morning, but whether or not it was real, I felt something very tangible here. There's no way I could ever cross the threshold into that house. It would suffice to stand quietly, look and imagine. This was close enough.
Back on Mathew Street we fed and watered ourselves and did our best to relax. Ben and Sam went to the Pop Boutique, and Sam came back with a very fetching vintage dress shirt. The time was soon approaching now, and I could sense a shift in mood and focus.
A man in a suit came by, saw the guitar Ben and I were restringing on an outside pub table, and produced a harmonica from his pocket. He played a spot-on rendition of Love Me Do, wished us well and moved on. If I hadn't had my hands full, I would have photographed him. The guitar was mine, by the way, a 1980s, Japanese, cherry red Fender Telecaster that Ben would play in the Cavern Club that evening. I had to get that in ;-)
In the Cavern, an old man in Lederhosen was enjoying the pure pop sound of Honeybug, strumming a rubber chicken in time to the music. Apparently, it's rare to just see the one - they usually move in herds. Two or three bands later, and the Lovedays disappeared into the backstage area. This was it. The next thirty minutes were why we were all here.
David Bash, the IPO's affable organiser introduced the band, announcing that their CD is one of his favourites of the year. I know he's not making it up. He hand picked The Lovedays, and stayed rooted to the spot at the foot of the stage during their set, his arm around his wife's shoulder, smiling broadly throughout.
What ensued was, quite simply, one of the best gigs I've ever seen. The band were as tight as tight can be. The sound was expertly excellent. Sam was like a sort of stylish, effeverscent whirlwind. I saw the previous band's drummer looking on in astonishment. Paul produced a surge of energy from nowhere that seemed to charge the other three. He didn't keep still the whole time. In contrast, Dean was cool, relaxed and playing an assured lead guitar. And Ben? Ladies and Gentlemen, Ben Jones was on fire. David Bash described him as a man possessed in his Facebook status the next day, and he wasn't wrong. I was reminded of Janis Joplin at Monterey, singing Ball and Chain, as the infectious pop of Red Letter Day gave way to a taut, powerful and lean version of John The Revelator. Suddenly, my friend, who I had been hanging out with all afternoon, just passing time, was a giant stage presence. Just like Patti Smith at the Empire in '96. A spellbinding presence. A bona fide star. I knew this would happen and I'd been right. The CDs had sold in seconds too.
Gigs like that remind me why I fell in love with rock and roll. I may never see another gig that good, and it won't matter.
I was at the Cavern Club when The Lovedays played the International Pop Overthrow in 2009.
