Music / americana
Review: The Felice Brothers, The Fleece
Carson McHone had the unenviable task of opening a sold-out show, armed with just an acoustic guitar. But to be fair, the crowd gave her a decent chance and she didn’t let them down. Over nine tunes she grew in confidence, sharing anecdotes and raising a few laughs, rewarded with hearty applause and a crowd that was damn quiet during the tunes. Sadly, a rarity at some gigs now…
Her delightfully constructed songs were played with aplomb – delicate picking during the verses, pretty melodies during the choruses and nice big fat chords for the breakdowns. A powerful voice, she brought a folky inflection to several of the lines, mixing it up: neither folk nor country but somewhere pleasingly in between.
is needed now More than ever
The End of the World (written in an inhospitable Swedish attic after 45 solo dates) was a standout tune, introduced with Carson speculating about whether such an extensive touring would ruin or better a typical musician. The couplet of the night, though, was “Fingernail moon, I’m just a sliver like you”, beautifully evocative and wrapped up in arguably the prettiest tune of the night (spoiler alert) Fingernail Moon.
Carson has an easy demeanour, a satisfying way with words and a knack of working them in to lovely songs that don’t just catch the ear give pause for thought. This was her fourth visit to the UK over the past twelve months (possibly escaping “…being dashed on the cliffs of despair” in Nashville), so odds are she’ll be back. Hopefully with her band so we can hear the songs in full flight.
The Felice Brothers (i.e. Ian, all the guitar, most of the lead vox and some keys. James, all the accordion, some of the lead vox and most of the keys. Accompanied by Jesske Hume, bass and Will Lawrence, drums) took to the stage with very little fanfare. The hushed venue waited patiently for all of 30 seconds before… “Hurry up! We’ve been waiting two bloody years!”. Cue a bashful exchange as James debated how many years it actually was and agreed it had been too long. Then the band burnt down the stage over twenty songs. Twenty compelling tunes played with passion and commitment; packed with compelling vignettes of life, politics both with a “P” and a “p”; tunes that rocked the house and tunes that gave pause for thought.
This was a celebratory night, the crowd loud, rambunctious and word perfect, with the eight tunes from the latest release Undress welcomed as warmly as any old favourite or deep cut. This was a night when the crowd picked the final song (Penn Station). This was a night when James revealed the band had forgotten to put any booze on the rider and requested a “gin and soda water, with a twist of lime” and received his drink one song later. This was a night when the band whipped up a perfect storm with Salvation Army Girl (played like an encore at a sold-out stadium show) and the crowd raised the roof with the chorus and grooved like melonfarmers.
And this was a night when you realised that in James’ hands the accordion, the humble squeezebox, the stomach Steinway, was every bit as rock ‘n’ roll as Bo Diddley’s Gretsch, or Keith Richards’ Telecaster or even Angus Young’s SG. Man, he worked that thing. It’s imbued with a cheery, party oompah sound but James deployed it to decorate the songs with all manner of emotions, and all manner of sounds. Indeed, Poor Blind Birds was a glittery cape away from being a prog keyboard solo such was the swirl of notes and soaring, climbing, wailing crescendos.
This was a night when one couldn’t work out of The Felice Brothers were a roots band determined to rawk; an unexpectedly thrilling amalgamation of Americana and the loose, grungy intensity of Crazy Horse; honky tonk heroes informed by the lyrical concerns of hardcore and the Boss or arguably the best extant US rock band this side of Drive by Truckers.
Remarkably this was a night when Ian’s keys, James’ accordion and his care worn yet defiant vocals brought the house down with just 36 words spread across 5 lines. Nail it on the First Try was a tour de force.
This was also a night that the Felice brothers were fully complimented by a fuckin’ kick ass (technical term) rhythm section. Hume & Lawrence fuckin’ nailed it (technical term). Locked in tight, Hume was forceful but not domineering and Lawrence leant into his kit and battered it to buggery. Thunderous when needed yet subtle too, he and Hume provided a rockin’, groovelicious foundation for the set. They were no slouches behind the mics either, the four-part harmonies were sublime: Let Me Come Home managed to be melancholy and raucous and sublime and boozy simultaneously. Fuckin’ marvellous (technical term).
This was a night that the only complaint one could make was that the band wasn’t accompanied by a horn section, peddle steel, fiddle, banjo and maybe a second guitar to really flesh out the tunes (especially the Undress cuts). But that’s to do a disservice to the power and passion of the performance and the strength of the songs. A massive disservice. Scratch that complaint as errant nonsense.
This was a night when you vowed never to miss The Felice Brothers again and to nag your friends, family, acquaintances and workmates to join you next time.
The Felice Brothers: The Fleece: Sunday, 02 February 2020
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