Free gigs, open to all comers, are always tricky
blighters. Inevitably if it’s being held in a bar you’re going to end up with
some people who are just there for a drink, in fact they probably haven’t got
the faintest idea who’s playing, perhaps they’re even unaware that there’s a
gig going on. This was, in part, the
story of tonight’s gig. A remarkable night from an equally remarkable artist.
Opening act Chris Tye (backed by Jayne Powell)
started things off in a mellow mood with the Jack Johnson-ish Walking In The
Sun really hitting the spot, partially courtesy of the rather striking ‘appreciate
what you’ve got’ lyric “Even a blind man can tell he’s walking in the sun”. Wise
words. By the time Gerard Starkie came onstage the bar was busier...and noticeably
noisier. Let’s face facts, this isn’t the perfect backdrop for an acoustic gig
and whilst Gerard got on with it the more respectful atmosphere that such
material demands was distinctly lacking. As the former lead singer of late 90s
alt rockers Witness Starkie’s an experienced performer with some decent songs
and a cover of that band’s single, Scars, plus the solo The Kid Got Electric
both somehow made it through the chatter.
On then to Patrick Duff, an artist I’ve personally admired
for almost 20 years now. If ever there was a life story worth telling, then
Patrick’s is it. A former busker he was spotted on the Bristol streets, joined
a band called Strangelove and went on to chart success and sell out gigs at the
London Astoria and Shepherds Bush Empire.
At that point they seemed destined to
make the leap to stadium status but the band split with Patrick battling
alcohol and drug addiction. Then he went to live in a forest. For two years.
Lord knows what hell and heaven he went through there but he was eventually
tracked down by Thomas Brooman and coaxed back to perform at Womad (the
festival Thomas had co-founded with Peter Gabriel). In the space of a few years
he’d gone from playing to thousands to performing for a handful of people in a
tent. It was here though that he heard an 81 year old African artist called Madosini
who, despite the huge generational and cultural gap connected with him like no
one else had. Before long he was living with her and her 11 grandchildren in a “cement
box” in the Cape Town township of Langa. Back in the UK he released a solo
album on Harvest Records (home to one of his musical heroes Syd Barrett), Luxury
Problems, then self released The Mad Straight Road. Both remain lost classics
ripe for discovery. Nowadays he plays live sporadically and I make a point of
seeing him every time I can. Why? Some years ago Richey Edwards, the missing Manic,
carved the words 4 Real into his arm with a razor blade during an interview
with Steve Lamacq. Shocking images of the resulting gore were splashed all over
the music press. On the one hand Richey was clearly deeply troubled. On the
other however it left you in no doubt that this wasn’t an act. For Richey music
wasn’t a way of earning a living, it was life itself. This total belief and
raw, sometimes painfully so, passion is rare. That’s not to dismiss other performers
at all. You can still put on an amazing show, you can still care about your
performance but it’s not the be all and end all of existence. With Patrick
however the feeling’s different. You really do get the sense that this is
someone who is literally pouring his heart and soul into every single note.
And, if you choose to listen, it’s simply one of the most powerful performances
you’re ever going to see.
Some tonight were listening. Others were not. Like I
say this was an open gig and whilst every artist deserves respect the nature of
this kind of event was never going to result in the most attentive audience.
Patrick, clearly sensing this, began with a speech about his grandfather and
father who gave him his love of poetry and music, dedicating the gig to them.
On paper (oh alright then, screen) this seems an inconsequential thing really, people
dedicate gigs and songs to others all the time but the passion that
burned...almost literally...when he spoke these words was frankly unbelievable.
Note by note, song by song this passion continued to build throughout the set,
with some in the room still oblivious to what was going on. I’ve never seen an
acoustic guitar played with such force, it was like that moment Hendrix set
fire to his axe, but still the talkers chatted away whilst a man was up there giving
everything he had. Dead Man Singing remains one of Patrick’s most powerful solo
songs and there was something even more poignant and heart breaking about
hearing it performed against the background noise. An impassioned...and
thoroughly well deserved in my opinion...speech against the chatter eventually
silenced the room, leaving us to enjoy Maria and a totally acoustic, unplugged
Thank You, with Patrick standing on the edge of the stage...literally and, I
guess, metaphorically too (NB: video below taken from a previous performance).
Music’s sadly littered with people who didn’t receive
the appreciation they deserved until it was all too late, Nick Drake, Gram
Parsons and Syd Barrett spring to mind (although Barrett perhaps had the
opportunity eventually but, for the sake of his own sanity, chose to reject
it). Patrick Duff is up there amongst them. One day, if there’s any justice in this
mad old world, his time will come. For now though for those of us who know a
great thing when we hear it he remains one of music’s best kept secrets. A
truly special night from an equally special human being.
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