Review: Flook, Redgrave Theatre – ‘An absolute powerhouse’

This year Flook celebrate being together for 27 years. The lineup may be different and that might be a relatively arbitrary number but, quite frankly, Flook will use any old excuse for a celebration.

The Anglo-Irish four piece are an absolute powerhouse, a flute and whistle-led, eight-legged jig machine.

Sarah Allen, on flute, and Brian Finnegan, on whistle and flute, are insanely puppy-ish, they (metaphorically) chase each other around, music charging about, crashing, dancing, layering on top of one another, pinging around.

Finnegan’s whistle is high, Irish and fiercely insistent while Allen’s flute has depth and a bass-y hum. If your only experience of flutes and whistles are from long-ago children’s concerts then Flook banish those painful afternoons.

Two tunes from the most recent album, Ancora, spiral across the Redgrave Theatre stage at a dizzying pace. Finnegan’s whistle lending everything a sense of manic Irish-ness that never almost drops.

John Joe Kelly on bodhrán is relentless, keeping a brushed rhythm around which each instrument plays. He is the solid, immovable rock, the rest of Flook ebb and flow around him – by the end he takes a remarkable solo, the likes of which has rarely been seen.

Guitarist, Ed Boyd, might decide that the old tune, Granny in the Attic, is “gurt lush” but this just betrays his West Country roots. He may be a polite Bathonian but what Boyd does to a guitar is absolutely outrageous. It’s propulsive and fierce, wildly free.

When he joins with Finnegan’s whistle and Kelly’s bodhrán, a tune that’s already full of Irish vigour becomes turbo charged, it races along. Anyone trying to dance along to this would have to have some serious stamina.

It comes as no surprise that, every now and then, Finnegan needs to stop and take a great gulp of air. Such is the lung capacity that it must require to keep his tin whistle at full tilt.

On Reel for Rubik, from Ancora, Finnegan twirls that whistle like a gunslinger, flashing quicksilver in the air, until unfurling great swathes of intricate notes. They seem to pour from him.

The notes effortlessly merge with the rest; flute, whistle, guitar and bodhrán in perfect harmony, perfectly uplifting.

It’s not all crazed Celtic dance music though, every now and then Flook slow down just a tiny bit. Ellie Goes West is delightfully romantic, gentle and tender. Sarah Allen’s flute casting wisps of sea mist as bodhrán and the plucked melody of the guitar float gracefully with it.

Lalabee is a gorgeous lullaby, two flutes drifting out into the moonlight, until it melts into Jig For Simon. More upbeat with Allen’s flute joined by Finnegan’s whistle they urge us back to the dancefloor.

Even with the occasional breather, this is music aimed squarely at the late-night slot of a Folk festival. It is restless and, above all, fun.

Jigs, reels and waltzes whirl by. Each as glorious as the last, the musicianship as extraordinary, the mood never any less than euphoric.

Flook may have been doing this for 27 years but the celebratory nature of this evening must mean that there’s plenty of breath left in them yet.

Main photo: Gavin McNamara

Read next:

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• Review: Sober Spaces, The Forge – ‘A focus on the curative ability of art’
• Review: Ben Folds, The Forum – ‘A celebration of heart-squeezing joy’

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