In a fairer world, Kevin Ayers would enjoy the widespread acclaim of a Martyn or a Reed. Had tragedy struck, we would reverently file him next to Barrett and Drake. Instead, Ayers has carved out his own singular, defiantly low-key niche, seemingly destined to remain under the popular radar.

For the uninitiated, this four-disc set offers an expertly chosen overview of the Ayers glory years. The earliest material combines post-psychedelic pastoralism with veiled menace, flitting between nostalgic whimsy and radical experimentation. As the early Seventies progress, the songwriting deepens and matures, its easy tunefulness concealing rich seams of romantic idealism and wry cynicism.

By the mid-Seventies, stardom began to beckon. Unimpressed by its false promises, and temperamentally ill-suited to the rigours of self-promotion, Ayers slowly retreated. Overlooked by all but the committed few, there are still shining nuggets to be mined from the patchier later work, as ably demonstrated here.

A previously unreleased and quite magnificent 1973 concert performance completes the package, showcasing the cult hero at the height of his powers.

*****

(Extended fanboy witterings still to be appended....)

Labels: albums, eveningpost, popmusic

Down at the Bodega, 53 minute sets (including encore) are nothing to complain about. Over at the Rescue Rooms, they’re just about acceptable. But at a sold-out Rock City, where over two thousand punters had shelled out £15 per ticket, you couldn’t help feeling a little short-changed.



Then again, when you’ve only got a 35 minute debut album to your name, there’s little to be gained in pointless padding. Ting Tings songs are mostly short and sharp, and on the whole they’re best kept that way. And with pre-recorded backing tracks inevitably playing a large part in the duo’s instrumentation, there wasn’t exactly much scope for spontaneous jamming.



However – and this is very much to the band’s credit – the performance never felt overly constrained by the technology. Stepping confidently into the Deborah Harry/Kim Wilde tradition of Great Pop Blondes, singer and guitarist Katie White maintained a cool, commanding, effortlessly sexy presence: strutting her stuff, but preserving her mystique. Jules De Martino provided solid, unflashy accompaniment on the drum kit, switching to keyboards whenever it was required.



Almost inevitably, the three hit singles – a chugging Great DJ, a funky Shut Up And Let Me Go and a frenzied, climactic That’s Not My Name – proved to be the biggest highlights. Although most of the album tracks were well received, chatter from the only-here-for-the-hits brigade did threaten to drown out the more subdued Traffic Lights.

A fun night out – but also rather a short one.



(Photographs © Nottingham Evening Post 2008, and reproduced with permission.)

Labels: eveningpost, gigs, popmusic