Review: Urban Voodoo Machine, Fleece

Twas a balmy evening outside the Fleece, punters sat enjoying a convivial pint before entering the venue to conclude a scorching day with some rock n roll. From the north appeared a tall figure in battered hat and suit, and lo, the cry came from the crowd “Weren’t you supposed to be on stage ten minutes ago?!” and came back the response from John E Vistic (for it was he) “Was I?!” as he darted off in to the venue. Once on stage the Long Tall V pumped out a pugnacious set of tunes, opening with just the acoustic and harp for the opening duo of Miracle Mile and Something’s Got to Give before breaking out the loops pedal. Although only purchased the previous Monday the pedal was deployed beautifully to enhance the rest of the material.

The centrepiece of the set was a freshly minted triptych, a concept piece based on the old familiar tale of boy meets girl, boy murders girl, boy attempts to bring girl back from the dead – perfect subject matter for a sweltering summer’s eve. The material hung together handsomely, Vistic building harmony vocals, guitar riffs and leads as he played & sang over the top, even bringing out the trombone for the concluding (failed) resurrection finale. In full flow by now he launched in to a bravura cover of John the Revelator, taking the song into another dimension with a Vistic choir raging and howling on repeat as he dragged the song kicking and screaming to its finale. The set conclude with a truly innovative take on Folsom Prison Blues, taken down to a funeral pace, seguing in and out of Silent Night as the looped vocals built an aural sepulchre.

Some guitar players feel the need to run around the stage gurning and throwing all manner of accepted (read clichéd) shapes, John Fairhurst chose to sit on a Cajon and gave a performance as dexterous as it was passionate and powerful without any axe hero nonsense. Drawing songs from Saltwater and beyond he took the blues right back to their roots: visceral and raw; driven by pure instinct: too many guitar players of late filter their blues through Clapton, Page, SRV, Bonamassa et al, Fairhurst takes it back to the crossroads, hellhounds on his tail.

Such was the sheer power in his performance he snapped his Cajon pedal four songs in, no mean feat given he was wearing flip-flops, leaving him kicking the beat out of his Cajon with his heel “fookin’ harder than it looks man” before pulling out the mic for an improvised stomp plate. Whilst the sounds were broadly the blues there were jazzy splashes and it was spiced throughout with Arabic / flamenco / folky picking); with sublime bottleneck slide direct from the Douglas Delta. Fairhurst revealed after the show that he has a new band for that festival at Pilton, if you’re there make sure you catch them.

The Urban Voodoo Machine took to the stage looking like the house band from a zombie bordello in a spaghetti western; the stage decorated with bones and skulls, fresh flowers, and with candles too for fallen comrade Nick Marsh (RIP). The set opened with High Jeopardy Thing and whilst the band’s “Bourbon Soaked Gypsy Blues Bop ‘n’ Stroll” was in full effect immediately, the gig started out with a weird vibe that lurked around throughout the set…There was an atmosphere of indolence about the crowd and lethargy too, but also there was dancing, singing along and biting banter towards and from the stage. The songs came thick and fast, a rowdy Cheers for the Tears cutting though the atmosphere and Pipe and Slippers Man getting the crowd moving and breaking the mood. The stinging guitar and rowdy harmonica duelling during All Mixed Up certainly proved a livener too.

Drawing from their four albums the set was indeed a superb mix of styles, tempos and sounds: sleazy brass, surf guitar; accordion mayhem and driving percussion – all held together by ringmaster and band leader Paul-Ronney Angel’s fag n booze soaked vocals (a life time of Rusty Water & Coffin Nails indeed). The stage could barely contain the band as they fought for space; gang vocals, burlesque shape throwing and tales of murder, mayhem and the darker side of life all underpinned by stand-up bass. The set was lengthy and still the vibe skulked backwards and forwards between stupor and belligerence – sure the crowd were getting involved, singing along and dancing but it never truly kicked off. Factory Girl was rousing and Angel’s return for an acoustic encore raised some laughs (and more biting back n forth) as he rocked a rather Victorian hooped red n white vest. Blame the heat, blame the mugginess but this will be the show that got away.

All pix by John Morgan