Music / Reviews
Review: The Marcus King Band, The Fleece
Once upon a time Marcus King had an excellent notion: what would it sound like to meld the Allman Brothers Band with a Stax horn section? He showed us, and also showed us how that basic notion could be improved. But before he did so, the sold out Fleece had the pleasure of a half dozen tunes from the splendid Beth Rowley.
Armed only with her sensational voice and harmonica, and accompanied by Tom on guitar, she performed tunes exclusively drawn from her second LP Gota Fría, stripped down versions that hit home with the majority of the crowd. Alas she suffered from the perennial problem of the moron demographic who think those attending would prefer to hear their braying, self-centred opinions rather than the act on stage. Never mind a hard border in Ireland, the Man should be legislating for hard borders at gig entrances to restrict the freedom of movement of these jackasses.
That said, Rowley rose above such nonsense and Forest Fire was a strong opening statement but Get it Back saw her voice soaring: nuanced and powerful, underpinned by tasteful twang from Tom, the song clearly resonated. Although Rowley said she would avoid too much chat (to allow an extra tune in), each song got a little introduction nonetheless: background on their genesis or insight into the lyrics. Brother was a delightful tune but the set closer Only One Cloud really hit the mark. A weird (weird good, not weird bad) blues vibe, all atmosphere and spook, it was a fitting climax to an excellent set.
is needed now More than ever
Rowley is an engaging performer and Gota Fría is packed with classy tunes that intrigue and delight. She displayed an easy manner on stage, relaxed and engaging. Her easy manner and class even extended to graciously dealing with the numpty who manged to empty half a can of Thatchers over her wares at the merch. Proper class.
The Marcus King Band comprise Marcus King (Guitar + Vocals); Jack Ryan (Drums); Stephen Campbell (Bass + Allen Collins hair circa. 1975); Justin Johnson (Trumpet + Trombone + Background Vocals + Tambourine); Dean Mitchell (Saxophones + Flute) and Deshawn Alexander (Organ + Keyboards + funkier moves sat on his arse than the majority of yokel blokes manage on their feet). They played for nigh on two hours and played a set that was super tight, yet languid and loose when they jammed out the songs, and they looked like they were enjoying every minute.
Band leader King refers to their sound as “soul-influenced psychedelic southern rock” and that’s about right…almost. The southern rock he’s referring to is way more in the Allman’s zip code rather than Skynyrd’s, less heavy and with much more of a jazz feel. In fact there were several occasions when the band conjured up a Frank Zappa’s Hot Rats vibe. King himself was superb on guitar: fluid and supple, his solos took flight and whilst certainly bringing to mind Duane Allman, also conjured up Derek Trucks. Then again he also managed to evoke the late, great Stevie Ray Vaughan – particularly on So Cold.
He was generous with the band too, each band member had the chance to shine: solos mid song or taking a lead, and yet they managed to serve the material at every juncture. Ryan and Campbell were locked in to the groove, powerful and driving; full of finesse the pair provided a funky foundation that enabled the songs to take flight and soar but not disappear meaninglessly in to the stratosphere. The core four were soulful to a man but Mitchel and Johnson really brought the soul, nailing that southern soul sound: here mournful and poignant, there stabbing triumphant blasts.
Alexander was a revelation throughout, crafty keys and a grooving perma-grinning presence stage right, he brought the material to the church and then instigated a psyche / soul thrown down perfectly complimenting King’s guitar. Hell, he even slipped in some Hawkwind swoops and rushes a couple of times. Respect.
The material was drawn from all of the band’s work to date, and the set ebbed and flowed but always with forward momentum. A cover of Ohio was gritty and powerful, King’s raspy voice sounding as much like Stephen Stills as it did Greg Allman’s. Soul of a Good Man tried to be both a driving funk workout and horn driven blues stomper, and succeeded, aided immeasurably by the horn solos and inexorable rhythm section. Fire on the Mountain soared too, a funky glide with a shuffle beat and nimble bass. There were soulful blues ballads (bringing to mind Robert Cray at his most heartbroken) and King wasn’t afraid to let rip with both riffs and solos, tasteful on the slower cuts and raging on the up tempo numbers.
King is a precociously talented player and singer who has made a massive impact here, completely without the permission of the dictators of taste, and it was excellent to note that the crowd comprised grizzled old rockers in fading tour tee shirts mingling with snappily dressed youngsters and a pretty even mix of girls and boys. There’s no doubt he’ll be selling out a bigger room next time out so copy a listen to lasted recording Carolina Confessions and be prepared to snap up a ticket – you won’t be disappointed.
The Marcus King Band: The Fleece: Thursday, 25 November 2018
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