To Wivenhoe, on a freezing February night. It’s a fair way from my rural backwater to the great metropolis, but I travelled in great hope & expectation.

I was not to be disappointed.

Not having visited William Loveless Hall before, I managed to lose my way a couple of times before realising that the place with the lights on & a crowd of people outside was a decent bet (little gets past me); I should add no drink had been taken at this point. That didn’t last long.

Upon entry the atmosphere was immediately inviting & convivial, with a heterogeneous mix of ages, dress code & sex. Well, just two of the latter. The common demoninator seemed to be happiness, so, determined to join the mood, I headed for the bar.

Proceedings proper soon began. Hobo Chang were first on, & an excellent, well judged set followed. A very ‘together’ band, good but unflashy musicians with a distinctive, strong vocalist in Fiona Harmon (Dr. John influenced?), their laid back Blues – Reggae style ideally suited to the occasion. Volume was spot on too; conversation was possible, but there was always that frisson of potential misunderstanding which can add so much to a social situation. Lighting was atmospheric. In fact the only downside was the camera-dodging undergone when visiting the bar (again). I’m just too bloody old for such manoevres. And I’ve got this dodgy knee (bit of shrapnel ……)

The hour flew by &, in a symphony of black,  the Man of the Moment appeared. If you think you’ve never clapped eyes on Mr. Clarke … well, in a thousand yellowing 60s NMEs, you have. Suit sprayed on to a slender frame, Henry the Human Fly dark glasses topped off with a bouffant barnet of Bosnian proportions, the look is a parody of/ homage to iconic mavericks of the era. It’s post-ironic irony. The voice subverts the image. The language belies the voice. He is a little the worse for wear. He has been ill. He’s up & running, & none of this matters.

My memory becomes ever worse. Some gags – funeral first, I think, then golfing (various) & an observation about the ascendancy of Marine Biology as the University course du jour; the phrase “under the sea” captures him & he rolls it around playfully. Now you start to get a flavour of his motivation, his engine room. It’s a love of language, of wordplay, how it fires you into a world of imagination, how it wrongfoots you & makes you think. He did “Hire Car”  first, rasping voice delivering the rhythmic assault  perfectly – I have to say, I can’t imagine any other voice doing his stuff justice. More jokes, (about Alzheimers …….. I’ve forgotten) then that most wonderful of titles “The Hanging Gardens of Basildon”, which rendered me entirely incapable of hearing the actual recital, doubled up as I was, face streaming with tears. I couldn’t hear the title of the final piece, but it involved the repetition of an imprecation so many times that any meaning disappeared, & you were left with a strangely reassuring train-like rhythm, almost like a lullaby … well …. almost …..

There was a final set from Hobo Chang, finishing with a duet between Fiona & Johnny, none of which I am really qualified to comment on, due to the complete collapse of my critical faculties, but it all sounded bloody good to me. Much applause. Lots of willing volunteers, in varying states of coherence, then busied themselves with the aftermath (& a last drink), rapidly returning the venue to its original, Loveless state. Job done.

Professional, entertaining, profitable! An excellent evening, kick starting the Great Moolah Quest without which the Great Cinematic Quest is doomed to fail.

This punter was impressed.

Allez Wivenhoe!

Andy Young