Apparently now into its seventh month, the Smokey Mountain Sessions - hosted by 'Smokin' Sean' - have until tonight managed to evade my notice but, thanks to one lone poster spotted in Liverpool City Centre two days previous, here I am amongst a fair sized posse of guys and gals, ready to knock back a few fiery shots of aural moonshine.
And let me tell you, this stuff is potent - I emerged (from the cellar that is Bar Fresa) some four and a half hours later, head spinning, eyes glazed and with a stupidly content grin on my face having witnessed a splendidly eclectic and yet somehow cohesive collection of bands.
First up were WILD EYES, an unfeasibly young group of dudes, all shaggy mop-tops and razor sharp cheek-bones, who shuffled on stage, plugged in and, amongst an echo drenched opening salvo, allayed all my initial fears that they would be all pose and no substance. They looked great, sufficiently and snottily confident, wired frontman and stick thin, ghoulish bass player and, they played psychedelic-punk-pop of a very high calibre, sounding on one song like a roughed up Strokes with bowery tough blasts of stabbing guitar and, on another like a simpler but equally
effective Television with trills of angular notes flirting with the spaces they left hanging in the air.
Another song, 'Memory Man' (I think), arrived in swirls of reverb and wah-wah'd guitar and was delivered like the kind of psychedelic nursery rhyme we'd usually associate with Syd Barrett. A short set of about six songs ended with a cock-sure and self-proclaiming slice of swamp rock. Great!
In all honesty, I wondered just how a sensible and mature looking MARK WILSON, armed only with acoustic guitar, could hope to follow the tornado of juvenile arrogance we'd just witnessed. The answer proved to be simple, with a style, panache and passion of his own delivered through his highly personalized brand of intense, 'percussive' blues. His vocal delivery is rich and at times almost preacher like and I find myself thinking of 16 Horsepower's hell 'n' damnation tales, perhaps not quite so bible black
but you get the idea.
His approach is particularly effective when Mark lays his guitar across his knees and employs a slide and accompanying
rhythm beaten out simultaneously with fingers and palm - he does literally seem to become one with his instrument and the result is a veritable storm of frantic blues and insistent beats. For one song the beats resemble that of a tabla player and the slide imitates a sitar and we think of the more experimental moments of Jay Farrar's more recent solo efforts. Then the guitar is tucked under his arm again and chords are flying from it with a Townshend-like fervour and abandon. When this guy plays its like he's possessed, there's nothing else quite like him out there.
THE MOJAVE COLLECTIVE are probably the most established band on offer tonight having been around for a while and their experience shines through in a set that's tight, full of great songs and totally uplifting. Singer Mark and lead guitarist Tom are both on acoustic guitars but that doesn't prevent them from ripping out some classic country rock in the style of The Band or Flying Burritos or, Tom (replete with mad hat) from setting the place alight with some burning solos. There's a song called 'Blame It
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on The Rain' that has an ace Creedence like chug, 'What We Learned' a cool, mid-point breakdown that gives the song an extra dollop of character.
At one stage I wondered just how closely they've been
observing the fortunes of fellow scousers and thinking, "We'll have some of that!" as they launched into a very Coral-like song that also betrayed those Beatle roots (chains?) That so many Merseyside bands seem fated to drag around with them. But all in all, The Mojave's have taken healthy portions of a variety of ingredients and baked themselves a very tasty pie that everyone present here devoured hungrily.
THE SILK TRADERS had me rubbing my eyes in disbelief and wondering just how I'd managed to step into that time portal that had whisked me back to the mid-70's. Long hair, either lank and greasy or frizzed lay on shoulders clad in body hugging shirts or velvet jackets, flared jeans rested on Chelsea Boots or suede 'Desert Wellies', honestly I'd seen nothing quite like this since the days of The Liverpool Stadium (so who remembers that cos I'm really showing my age now?) but "wait", I hear you
call, "this isn't a fashion review or history lesson, what did they sound like?" What do you think they sounded like? A great 70's blues rock bandis what.
I mean these guys couldn't even have been born and yet they
sounded so damn authentic. Their skinny frontman has a great voice a la Rory Gallagher, the rest of the band seem to know instinctively where he's coming from and their tunes echo another great and very young band, Free, mainly because they have that undiluted rawness and energy that particularly epitomised Free's astonishing debut 'Tons Of Sobs'. Truly a pleasure to witness and not just for nostalgic purposes.
Unfortunately by the time final band, THE PRELUDE take to the stage everybody, including the band - attempting an all acoustic 'jam' - have had at least one beer too many and things are sounding a bit messy. Originally from Ireland but now based in Liverpool, when presenting theirfull band electric set they do so with a swagger and joyous elegance, blending their Celtic roots with a hint of country and some driving r 'n'b but tonight, I'm sorry to say I gave up on them early - sincere apologies - but I will catch them again and so must you!
Congratulations Smokin' Sean!!
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