Saturday 10th November, 8:00pm
The Opera House, Cork
Tommy Swarbrig presents
Jack L
(supported by Shane O'Fearghail)
Jack…Jack L…Mr Lukeman…excuse me whilst I stare off into the distance…
Where was I? Ah yes! Saturday night in The Opera House with Jack L et al, supported by Shane O’Fearghail of the band Caruso. Well, let’s start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start. (Note to self: there’s a song in that.)
The Opera House is packed to the rafters. The audience is aged anything from early-20s to early-retirement and there’s a buzz of general good humour in the air. Roadies wander on and off the stage adjusting things until one of them starts to tune a guitar, playing a few chords up near the front mic to check the sound or other … hang on … that’s not… is that a roadie? …nope, that’s a very nervous solo support act. Seriously nervous, voice-shakingly nervous, he’s holding a guitar riff until the crowd hushes one by one and starts by singing a Beatles song to open. It was like watching a tight-rope walker. Mercifully, he admits to the nerves after a couple of numbers and we all relax, Mr Fearghail included. He’s good. He’s funny. He has a husky voice and his own music. He puts his stamp on The Police’s ‘(Don’t stand so) close to me’ and despite his nerves, can grip and hold the audience. One man and his guitar. On a big, cluttered stage. Not easy. Kudos.
And now to the main act. I’m not going to pretend to know exactly what he sang or in what order, as I was not taking notes in the dark and was too busy enjoying the gig to try. Also, I was pretty close to the stage and far too interested in what was going on there than in trying to hide a notebook about my person. Then you’ve got the fact that I’ve been a huge fan for years, ever since I saw him dance around on stage in the Half Moon Club wrapped in a feather boa back in the days of “Georgie Boy” and “Ode to Ed Wood” and, you have been warned, it’s bias ahoy.
Let’s start with the cello. Not the most usual stage instrument you’ll see out there. And especially not one which is played side-saddle. I’m not sure why that was – is it her normal method of playing or was it simply because she was wearing a short skirt? (Wardrobe is ALWAYS a consideration for the public female cellist.) How and ever, it’s an inspired choice. The pitch and timbre of the cello match the pitch and timbre of Mr L’s voice and they resonate together. And speaking of The Voice, it’s better than ever. That man just throws his head back and this glorious sound soars out. I have no idea whether he’s given up cigarettes and is looking after it and himself more than before or is getting vocal training but he’s looking slimmer and fitter and appears more a master of his craft now than he ever has done in the past. This was best seen when the stage cleared and he came down the steps into the audience with nothing but his teeny, tiny accordion – no mic, no amplification - and sang a song about stardust, which reached to the rafters and held the audience spell bound.
He was in great good humour, chiding people who were coming in late or who had been to the bar, ricocheting banter & heckles back into the crowd and generally appearing to have a thoroughly good time up there. He also appeared to be very, very hot, but that will happen, Mr L, if you go onto a brightly-lit stage wearing a 3-piece suit with buttoned-up waistcoat and then start jumping around.
The set ranged from his earliest recordings (“Amsterdam”) right through to the most recent releases (e.g. “Lost in Limbo” & “Chololate Eyes”), and even a couple which hadn’t been recorded yet. It included the show-stoppingly gentle “Rooftop Lullaby” to the more robust (and still one of my favourites) “Bedsprings”. The newer stuff included lyrics such as “you’ll be tanning yourself in the fires of hell”. You’ve got to admire the man; he brings a level of carnivality (is that even a word?) to what can sometimes be a very serious business indeed.
And as the two-hour set (with encores, plural – you get value for money with this guy – quality AND quantity) progresses, the coat comes off and the crowd is putty in his hands – standing, singing, clapping, dancing, whatever he wants.
Look it…love him or loath him, curse him for singing Jacques Brel numbers (and singing them in English) or revere him for bringing them to a new audience, miss the days of the feather boa and the theatrics or be glad that they appear to be in the past, there is no denying the voice.
Long may it continue.
