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Review: Fish/Lazuli, O2 Academy
It wouldn’t be a Fish tour without some kind of calamity. This year, the weather has been to blame. A couple of nights ago, the big fella faced the dilemma of pissing off the 50% of his audience who’d struggled through ice and snow to get to a gig by cancelling it or pissing off the 50% who hadn’t made it by going ahead. Tonight it’s the turn of support act Lazuli. Frontman/guitarist Dominique Leonetti opines that they’ve spent 45 hours in their bus struggling to get here from the snowbound continent and are in need of some love.
Fortunately for him, there’s no shortage of love for the unassuming French proggers (or purveyors of “quelque part entre rock progressif, chanson, électro et world” to use their own unimprovable description) at the packed Academy. They open as usual with the slow-building Le temps est à la rage from recent-ish album Nos âmes saoules, audience chattering drying up as the gentle piano and high-pitched vocal intro gives way to attention-commanding prog grandeur, with a searing léode solo from Dominique’s brother Claude.
is needed now More than ever
Once again, we marvel at the versatility of this instrument of Claude’s own devising, which resembles an upright Chapman Stick and is capable of producing a remarkable range of sounds, from overdriven guitar to wailing Middle Eastern tones.
While there are some seriously impressive chops on display here and no shortage of musical imagination – as one might expect of a band whose drummer and keyboard player swap instruments and who eschew the bass guitar but incorporate the French horn – this is prog of the more exuberant, danceable variety. Indeed, Dominique barely stops jigging about throughout their set, and when they break out the marimba it’s hard not to be reminded of their fellow countryman Pierre Moerlen’s late ’70s incarnation of Gong.
As before, the quintet gather round it for their final song, the self-explanatory Nine Hands Around the Marimba – equal parts dextrous musicianship and dicking about – which climaxes to rapturous applause. Let’s hope all these people turn out to see Lazuli again when they return to headline next October.
A charismatic frontman of the old school, Derek William Dick – aka Fish – has always come across as a combination of rabble-rousing preacher and stand-up comic. Now he’s got a new string to his bow: “the prog Val Doonican” (his description). Yep, this time he’s brought a comfy stool to sit on each time he needs a breather, and delivers regular self-deprecating quips about his advancing age and infirmity (he’s 59). This tour was initially advertised as having two parts: a full performance of Clutching at Straws, his final recording with Marillion, and new material from his alleged farewell album, Weltschmerz. But Monsieur Poisson, as his support act may or may not refer to him, has a confession to make: “I’ll be honest with you: I’ve done fuck-all. I’ve spent a year and a half eating pies.”
So instead, he mines his solo catalogue, beginning with a brace of songs he’s rarely aired over the last couple of decades – the Gabriel-esque The Voyeur (I Like to Watch) and Emperor’s Song. Trusty guitarist collaborator Robin Boult is on fine form as he spars with his large, dad-dancing Scottish employer, the well-rehearsed band being augmented by Doris Brendel on flute and backing vocals (she toured with Marillion back in the day as frontwoman of The Violet Hour).
Hilariously, Fish announces that he’s going to avoid politics tonight, before addressing the defeat of that fundamentalist bigot in Alabama and holding forth on Brexit, Trump and Theresa May (summary: he’s not enamoured of any of them). All this is by way of introduction to State of Mind, his first post-Marillion single. He argues that much of the solo stuff he’s unearthed to cover his arse as a consequence of creative indolence is actually more relevant today than when it was written. He’s certainly got a point. This song, with its “I don’t trust the government…I trust in conspiracy” lines, now seems to have anticipated the rise of populism way back in 1989.
Then it’s time for the main event, prior to which he takes the piss out of that section of, erm, rather obsessive fans who’ve complained that he’s ruined their lives by playing Clutching at Straws out of sequence. An under-appreciated entry in the Marillion canon despite reaching number two 30 years ago, it’s certainly a tricker one to tackle in its entirety than Misplaced Childhood, which he did last time, being something of an introspective comedown album shot through with alcohol- and cocaine-fuelled self-pity. Incommunicado is the only really big, upbeat bounce-along song, which is perhaps why it’s been repositioned earlier in the running order. Still, Slainte Mhath remains suitably rousing, Warm Wet Circles and Sugar Mice are two of Marillion’s best singles, and the delicate Going Under is tackled on stage for only the fifth time.
Amusingly given that his solo material occasionally feels like an unequal battle between lyrics and music (or Roger Waters Syndrome as it’s known in the trade), Fish berates himself for writing too many words. But he has a handy crib sheet and many of the lyrics are projected onto a screen at the back of the stage, along with Mark Wilkinson’s original album artwork and snaps of the younger, more hirsute frontman. The Last Straw brings it all to a powerful emotional climax, with Brendel seemingly chanelling another warbling Doris – Doris Troy on Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon – with her extemporising.
The encore opens with Tux On, which we feel rather smug and ever-so-slightly sad for knowing was initially released only on the Sugar Mice CD single. Then, perhaps unexpectedly, it’s back to 2013’s A Feast of Consequences album for Perfume River and an epic, grandiose The Great Unravelling. A swift final romp through Market Square Heroes might have sent us off into the rainswept night with more of a spring in our steps, but it’s by dancing to the beat of his own drum that Fish has acquired and retained such a large and loyal audience.
All photos by Mike Evans
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