By Pat Lynch
The 2nd of three events in the Bio Rhythm exhibition currently running at the Science Gallery, Trinity College, Dublin featured Gavin and BP Fallon amongst a cast of music psychologists, therapists and fellow musicians to explore and discuss the relations we have with music. And specifically for the first half of the evening, that effect of music on our emotions. Is music driven by emotion or is it emotion that creates the music? Scientists and musicians discuss!
Londonist reviews the 4-hour Rogue’s Gallery show in London on July 28th, 2008
Other fixtures were Ed Harcourt and Gavin Friday. Harcourt’s heartbreaking “Farewell Nancy” sounded less mournful with the Langley Sisters leading the vocals. Friday gave an inspired performance of “Baltimore Whores,” perhaps the first truly exciting performance of the evening. The pair shared vocal duties on “Boney Was A Warrior” with a visibly unsteady Shane McGowan on harmonica and were joined by Baby Gramps in backing Sandy Dillon on “Bully In The Alley,” which was all too perfectly suited to Dillon’s cat-scratch vocals.
As Wilner said, you couldn’t get through an evening of sea chanteys without the obligatory rendition of “What Do We Do With A Drunken Sailor.” In the hands of David Thomas, Keith Moline, the still-shaky McGowan, and Gavin Friday, it took on an apocalyptic nature. Despite a light-hearted reference to the accordion on his knee, Thomas succeeded only in making perhaps the best known of sea songs borderline terrifying. However, if a song has been covered to death then it might as well scare you near to death.
JournalOnline.co.uk reviews Rogue’s Gallery in Gateshead:
“A smattering of highlights (there were too many to mention) would be the aforementioned Oscar winner, Mr Robbins taking the lead mic for My Son John, Sandy Dillon (whose voice suggests a Macy Gray/Steve Tyler parentage) pleading Leave Her Johnny and Gavin Friday giving the Baltimore Whores food for thought.”
From the Irish Independent, dated Tuesday 17 June:
“Actress Elizabeth P Moynihan’s reading of Molly’s soliloquy went down a storm, while Gavin Friday’s Nighttown song, accompanied on the kazoo, was the highlight for many. “Beautiful, sinister, melodic, whispering”, enthused Senator David Norris.”
Review of the June 6, 2003 Interference concert at Vicar Street, by Peter Murphy:
Interference were always on the outside of the in-crowd, a peculiar hybrid of muso chops and stoner rock distinguished by soaring vocals and virtuoso violin. Tonight, roughly 15 years after their inception, was a sort of Last Waltz extravaganza organised by allies of Fergus O’ Farrell determined that he should reap the glory of the live stage before the deterioration wrought by muscular dystrophy makes such events an impossibility.
It was often emotional stuff of course, but if this was O’ Farrell operating on one third of his lung power and tired after two days of intensive rehearsal, then most of the vocalists on the scene could be thankful for their egos he wasn’t on full throttle. The first set, basically a reprise of the recent Other Voices set, was actually superior to the electric finale that closed the show – a subtle performance full of intuitive playing and, above all, intensive listening.
But the second act was truly extraordinary, starting from ‘Not Beholden’, a co-write with Maria Doyle Kennedy, O’ Farrell’s neo-classical modulations offset by MDK’s red blooded vocal, somewhat akin to Michael Nyman backing Bessie Smith. There followed the arrival onstage of Gavin Friday and Maurice Seezer, not men to do things by halves. The pair’s contribution was a full-blown operetta entitled ‘Here In Your Dreams’, effectively a polyphonic dialogue between deceased and bereaved. Chills abounded, and continued to resonate through a string-driven version of Leonard Cohen’s ‘Who By Fire’.
From the trauma of death to the trauma of birth: Mannix Flynn performed the first movement of James X, enacting the childbearing process as a state of emergency. Mannix’s wordplay could wake Finnegan, and his delivery, timing and vocal range were exemplary.
As I said, the subsequent electric set needed pruning, the flow disrupted by pesky tuning delays and so forth, but given what had gone before, only the churlish could complain, especially when Iarla O’ Lionaird offered a perfectly pitched closing sean nos lullaby.
Quite a night.
In the Evening Herald on June21st, Senator David Norris wrote the following on Gavin’s 2002 Bloomsday appearance:
“Gavin Friday produced a real gem, having discovered a 1928 recording of a previously undiscovered song which had a direct bearing on the text of Ulysses. It gave me great pride in Joyce and his city to see Gavin and his pal Adam Clayton of U2 mingling unselfconciously with the crowd of revellers.”
Patrick Lynch sees Tomorrow Belongs to Me, July 27&28, 2006
If I Didn’t Come Up The Liffey In a Bubble (Gavin’s spoken word and autobiographical production at the 2003 Dublin Fringe Festival) was his ‘A Life Story of My Life’ show then ‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me’ certainly would seem to come from the same prized scrapbook, but marked more specifically under ‘My German Influences’. Despite the pre show press promotion little was actually given away as to what to expect from this two night residency at The Liberty Hall theatre.
Gavin’s German obsessions have to these ears always sat loosely alongside his Dublin ones. They have been readily referenced in everything from ‘Next’ in the live show context or on record with Shag Tobacco’s ‘Dolls’ . He has quoted German like most high brow English authors show off their Latin. It is a love of the language and place that characterises a certain European otherworldness in Gavin’s work. In the pastwe’ve had but only the briefest of glimpses of what lies within but with these shows we were promised a deep submersion in this very personal book of Gavin’s-Brilliant-German-Things.
The set further feeds this promise. Table, chair, wine, dummy’s head, a luminous window frame backdrop, side show screens, a painted draped curtain overhead, the stage edge lined with light bulbs. Welcome To The Cabaret.
The audience are still settling into their seats when the lights dim and the red heart that has been beating consistently on the video screens looks like it might be about to explode. An intro of Bowie ‘s Warsawa paves the way for the serene figure of a red dress-ed, beehive haired, painted faced lady. When she opens her mouth the purest mezzo-soprano voice emerges. Miriam Blennerhassett delivers Bach’s Ave Maria, instantly blowing away any expectations of tonight’s show. Indeed it is the first indicator to the constantly shifting themes of the evening. Movie footage follows on the video screens. In vintage black and white a young curly haired girl bounces a ball against a poster that refers in German to a murder. We see this image clouded by a man’s shadow and later the ball rolling freely into a park. Instantly the tone is set for something ominous, the suggestion of innocence lost.
Gavin strolls on, in trademark shirt, suit bottoms, thick wedged soles and carefully adjusted pony tail of charcoal black hair. He looks as much a Spanish flamenco dancer as a north side boot boy of seventies Dublin , oozing his customary charm and confidence. It’s a presence that cannot be ignored and one that on the second night, is enough to make one male admirer heckle “G’wan Gavin, ya ride!”. Suffice to say Gavin’s retort is appropriately ribald: “Do ya want to see me mickey?”
He wanders the stage, singing a gentle rendition of Randy Newman’s In Germany Before The War , whispering his vocals into the microphone and into every corner of the venue. More audio visual links lead us into Lou Reed’s Berlin . So far the mood is sad and reflective, a sense of a different place at a very difficult time. Gavin drifts into Angel . The mood lightens with recognition. We leave this dark but riveting place.
Falling In Love Again, Lillie Marlene and Each Man Kills The Things He Loves bring us back onto familiar terra firma to the Friday we have known and loved for the last seventeen years, with his penchant for cabaret and vaudeville. But just when we think we have the show sussed he emerges after an Einstuerzende Neubauten musical link to perform Kraftwerk’s The Hall of Mirrors. Fully suited now he sits down and sings the song’s lyrics. Blennerhassett stands behind him, adding a classical backing to this magical duet.
The video footage briefly departs from its collage of blinking, twitching eyes to show Gavin in pre and post ‘star’ mode, wide-eyedly contemplating his alter images. The whole performance is nothing short of hypnotic, like entering sleep and re-emerging from a strange dream.
The stage soon empties for the next part of the show which commences with an electronica beat and a single flashing white light. Clad in a black dress like we’ve never seen her before Cait O’Riordan arrives on stage, her gorgeous bone structure and bass guitar playing as striking as each other. Other band members appear from the shadows and Gavin re-enters the stage walking like a robotic Charlie Chaplin and clicking his tongue to the song breaks of Kraftwerk’s Showroom Dummies . It’s a wonderfully animated performance that ignites from the deadpan original and reminds us that with Mr Friday it is never mere song delivery but theatrical interpretation too.
Can’s I Want More lifts the tempo even more. Gavin gets seriously down dirty with a similarly clad female. She has the sensual frame and moves of a super model. As the title suggests this is pure filthy gorgeous decadence. This light mood makes way for a round of the ‘Spin The Bottle’. Gavin embarrasses audience members with his game of truth or dare. The back rows aren’t spared. On the first night this section of the show takes Gavin all the way up the back stairs to the balcony. On the second night he stays closer to the stage and reaches everyone more effectively by ordering us to hold aloft our limited edition bottles of Beck’s, adorned with the show’s logo. This light hearted play throws the next segment of the show in sharp relief.
After a brief interval Gavin gradually finds his way back to the stage with eerie Nosferatu silhouette play against the backdrop. When he does come back to the stage he is red lipped and white faced, cloaked in a chunky coat with a pointy raised collar. His version of Bauhaus’s Bela Lugosi’s Dead is spectacular not least for its stripped down white noise/white light performance that brings back the hey day of a certain Punk/Goth era but also seems to resurrect the former Virgin Prune. He kneels on the stage stabbing at his heart with the microphone, his hair style and face not aged much in the twenty something years since. Validating that this is not just my reading, the next song after Siouxsie and The Banshee’s Metal Postcard is the incredible Theme For Thought from the Prunes’ … If I Die, I Die .
“Should I talk the way you want me to talk/say the words the way you want to hear them/I know a lot of people like that”… I did not think I’d ever see this song performed in such a way in my lifetime. It’s truly a memorable moment to see a performer take the best from their past and, through a megaphone, reinterpret it so immediately in the here and now. It’s the pinnacle of the show for me and an underlining of the fact that Gavin needs a more permanent band and frequent stage presence.
Theme for Thought has lost none of its integrity or vitriol, an anti-fascist poem by Martin Niemöller replacing the original Oscar Wilde verse, reminding us of Nazi horrors and how the path for their blitz of destruction was cleared by the silence of others. This ties into the show’s title song Tomorrow Belongs To Me, best known from the movie Cabaret, segueing into Annie’s Tomorrow. An Irish dancer and tricolour feather boas for all on stage complete the picture.
It could all end here but there’s more…and how! Environmental hazard reminders come courtesy of a version of Kraftwerk’s Radioactivity updated with mentions of Chernobyl and Sellafield. The sombreness is lifted with the release of Nena’s 99 Red Balloons . Stage exit again only for a swirling mirror ball to herald the return of Gavin as we truly have not seen him before! Leather jacket and jeans, with singlet and serious ‘there’s-a-guy-down-the-disco-thinks he’s-John Travolta’ moves this is The Disco Man Friday with his version of Iggy Pop’s Night Clubbing and Boney M’s Daddy Cool . It’s playful and fun, but also a re-education. If any of us ever thought we had Gavin Friday pinpointed, think again!
The show ends to a standing ovation. It feels like the ending of something, the start of something else. A rebirth, a reinvention, a shouting from the rooftops that anything is possible. Of course Gavin Friday shows have never been just ‘gigs’. They are events in all their creativity and attention to production and promotion. A ticket is a golden party invite. All ’round to Gav’s. You never know what to expect. And if this sounds like the hyperbole of the long-time converted I’ll let the newcomer seated behind me have the last word: “He’s brilliant. I’m glad I came. What a fucking performer!”
(text © Patrick Lynch / gavinfriday.com.)
Gavin Friday, accompanied by Maurice Seezer, Des Moore and Gareth Hughes played to a captivated audience for RTE’s ‘Other Voices’ in St James Church, Dingle, Co. Kerry, Ireland on Wednesday.
Starting the set with a stripped down version of ‘Shag Tobacco’ and the torch song turns vaudeville classic ‘Melancholy Baby’, Gavin belted out superb versions of Caruso, complete with a mock-Italian ‘Come Back to Sorrento’ ending. After the recorded set, the stunned audience were treated to an off-camera encore of Jacques Brel’s ‘Next’.
This performance and the other bands recorded for this series of ‘Other Voices’, presented by John Kelly, will be broadcast on RTE TV starting in Spring 2005.
Full set list: Shag Tobacco, Melancholy Baby, The Last Song I’ll Ever Sing, Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves, Angel, Caruso, Rags to Riches, Next.
Photo copyright © Caroline van Oosten de Boer
Gavin Friday, “I didn’t come up the Liffey in a bubble”, Spiegeltent 23rd Sept 2003
By Patrick Lynch
If the best artists wear their hearts on their sleeves, then Gavin Friday laid his bare in his Dublin Fringe Festival show “I Didn’t Come Up The Liffey in A Bubble”. From the outset it was clear this was going to be no revelation of the chocolates and roses kind. Walking through the audience of the spectacular Spiegeltent in his green Ireland soccer jersey and shell suit pants, Gavin, the Dublin yob, verbally abused, not to mention pissed on anyone who got in his way via his specially adapted water squeeze cock. To a Big Brother backing beat he played the two faces of Dublin. The pissed, aggressive header of a teenage father, looking for ‘Jacintaaaaa’ to the highly pitched spoiled rotten Southside Sweetie. Both of which could only have struck a chord with anyone from the fair and not so fair city.
Having disposed of his Dunnes Stores ‘shoos’ to anyone who would take them he ambled to the stage and lay on the flat of his back like a man in the gutter looking at the stars. Or maybe a boy in his bed dreaming of Ziggy Stardust? Rising to his feet, he stripped to his underwear and socks, preening and dressing in his room — a pubescent lad torn over just what to wear. And then, having become “Gavin Friday”, fully dressed in his more traditional threads, he told us his story with the aid of poster sized picture boards.
The premise seemed simple. Surely any of us could do it. Just stand up and talk about our lives, loves, influences and failures. But then not everyone has quite seen their vision through to the extent that Gavin Friday has. ‘Handbag Hanvey’ was just one of the school nicknames attributed to a teenage boy who wore long hair, ear rings and ladies dresses and then WENT OUT ON THE STREET. Conventional punk gear could only have been pussyfooting it by comparison. And then there was the conviction. ‘THE DOLE OR THE CIVIL SERVICE’. The general ‘ARSEHOLE’ put downs of his father. The YES versus the NO’s all around. Breaking out of his car-less cul de sac of Cedarwood Road to hang out with the apparently wealthier prods. The Derek Rowans and the Paul Hewsons. Discovering Oscar Wilde at twelve. TWELVE! Having chats with David Bowie in your head, where he spoke back to you in that polite English accent of his.
For each head in the roll call Gavin easily wore a different hat, slipping in and out of character, playing a thousand parts in a one man show. Also featured in the gallery were Jaques Brel, ‘proof that punk started before ’76′ and Kurt Weill where Gav became most playful, totally immersing himself in a sharp and brittle nazi chic narration. But most touchingly of all was the prop for ‘Mr & Mrs’ where the captions were switched in a role reversal over an image of (ex-wife) Rene and himself plucked from a punk youth.
The innocence of the picture, two lovers side by side in long coats and bushy hair do’s presented an idealistic portrait of pure soul mates. That they split up a lifetime later prompted Gavin to concede that she was the inspiration behind much of his writing. ‘I FUCKED UP, SHE FUCKED UP’. What more could he say really? He finished this part of the set with a spoken word and eventual song version of Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. But if such moments were reflective there were the lighter ones too.
The sheer theatrics of Gavin’s – Bowie- MacBeth, where crouched from a table in the middle of the floor he became drenched in a glorious white spotlight. There was the love for his mother ‘ARE YOU OKAY FOR UNDERPANTS AND SOCKS LOVE?’ The begrudging respect for his father whose lines he steals: ‘he’d live in you ear and rent the other out in flats…’ and still steals for the title of the evening’s show. There was the impromptu reproductions of a Picasso featuring Doreen and Anto, unfortunate enough to be sitting in the front row seats. The tributes to Johnny Rotten. The anointing and kissing of eh, Gavin’s ring. If at the very least Friday is an art junkie and seventies pop culture connoisseur then the message of the evening was ‘GOD HELP OUR KIDS’. Indeed, given what’s out there now what will they ever have the chance to stand on a stage about at forty-three?
Other than that, the evening was as magical and entertaining as the best theatre demands. Gavin ‘Finner’ Friday was as riveting as ever, pushing the limits once again to produce and deliver something completely different. Tonight was extra special though. Tonight he made it personal. Having created the sights, sounds and smells of his city and his own unique place within it, as a fellow Dub, I found this an exceptionally moving experience. The sort that might linger in the head on the Northside Nitelink home.
‘One had the distinct impression that here was Friday’s unashamed autobiography in 3-D’
Robin Dutt reviews concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall
An audience is very often the best clue to understanding a performer. Forget, however, the poster-clutching teenage mutant maniacs at a Take That concert or the droves of Michael Jackson fans dressed almost uniformly in opportunistic merchandise. Loyalty can be much more subtle.
At the one-night spectacular last week, Gavin Friday succeeded in bringing together a decidedly motley crew from a sprinkling of Goths and punks to the fashionably bald and those sporting Levi jean jackets and check shirts. Of course this should come as no surprise. Friday’s career stretches back to 1978 and the inception of the raucous and much-loved Virgin Prunes, specialising in mayhem and magic on a grand scale.
Now a solo performer, he brings a particular style and verve to what some observers might call modern cabaret. Friday knows a good deal about seduction. The set was a vital part of his act, featuring crimson drapes, bunches of flowers, candles and a dry-ice blowing contraption, beneath which was partially hidden a black-and-white television. Friday presented himself with tough and ironic verve – spiky hair, a buttoned-up shiny charcoal suit with a string vest just visible. On his feet were crepe- soled beetle-crushers. He looked cute and dangerous at the same time. He danced with himself, strutted like Jagger, nursed a glass of wine and often flickered his tongue like a viper. No reluctant showman this.
Most of the songs performed feature on Friday’s unusually sensitive and strident album Shag Tobacco and he took his audience from 1930s Berlin to a suburban housewife’s nightmare, on the way passing by real-life characters such as Mr Pussy, a celebrated transvestite, and his ultimate hero, Caruso. Portraits of both appeared in gilt frames on set. One had the distinct impression that here was Friday’s unashamed autobiography in 3-D.
Friday needs to be completely involved in the essence of each song. He needs to change, chameleon-like, from the bedsit late-night worker fantasising about his neighbour upstairs to the unashamedly and near falsetto “Angel” – a sensual experience of floating in pink marshmallow. A total musical mix, classical instruments combined with more unusual electric woodwind, all played skilfully by only three other members of the group who manage to sound like a small orchestra.
To mark definite sections within the set, Friday told stories, cracked the odd joke and spoke through a bejewelled megaphone – whatever it took to remain ringmaster. And this is solely the point. For him to be able to control our emotions so precisely, he needed to be in absolute control. We smiled at the camp bonhomie and bitchery of Mr Pussy, but were genuinely moved by “the last song I’ll ever sing” – a tribute to a dead friend. Breaking the mood lest we knew what to expect came a most original and stormy version of T-Rex’s “The Slider” which Marc Bolan would have loved. Towards the end, he walked among his delighted audience, singing, crooning and making love with his eyes – to everyone. Seduction as ever is nine points of success.
Forum
Links
