I’m now feeling a little drained after another great show, and a rather emotional one, given we were saying goodbye to some of our tour companions. Brian and Mickey B get this year’s Trains, Boats & Planes award for Hard Touring after spending most of the day in strike-bound captivity the wrong side of the Channel and still making it to the show. Safe journey home, B’s and it was lovely to see you over here. Same, too, to Miss October and everyone else who’s gone home. And hi and welcome to Gary, whose first Jukes show it was: hope you had a good time.
Once again I have to give heartfelt thanks to the Jukes for their spirit, good humour and wonderful playing in what could have been a disastrous venue. Also huge appreciation for the skill of Lord Reggae Sean, Joe Da Prince and Hood (no epithet suffices) in getting the Jukes set up and producing great sound in an awkward space.
First, the background. Bristol is an old port and trading city on our west coast, and The Fleece is a (pretty small) pub made out of the trading floor of an old wool exchange. It’s all old stone, with cast iron pillars holding up the ceiling and obstructing, not only the audience’s view and dancing, but the space on the (already tiny) stage. (At one point South came face to face with a pillar as he approached the edge of the stage and addressed it: “Hi, How’re ya doing?”)
As we waited – in the rain – an extra hour for the doors to open, while crew and Druids struggled to fit the Jukes’ equipment on stage, the realization spread: the Jukes are playing in a pub! (A bar band is one thing, but pub-rock they ain’t). The support band did perfectly good versions of Wang Dang Doodle, See Saw and the like, but the horrible booming sound seemed to confirm our worst fears. Then Sir Sean came out and delivered a warning to the sardine-packed crowd: “People on that side of the room: the band just came through, so check your wallets”. South arrived on stage: “And you ain’t getting them back, either.” Glares at mic: “This is not right. We’re not right. And” (to us) “you’re not right”. Then starts up Shake ‘Em Down – and lo! All the Jukes are coming through clean and clear and sounding great! How do they do it?
Here’s the setlist:
Shake ‘Em Down
I Played The Fool
Unchain My Heart
Walk Away Renee
Baby Don’t Lie/Crossroads (Ricky Byrd lv)
All Night Long
Gin-soaked Boy
Talk To Me
This Time Baby’s Gone For Good
Why Is Love Such A Sacrifice
Love On The Wrong Side
Gladly Go Blind
You Don’t Know Like I Know
Without Love
Tired Skin
Sinful
(bit of Hell Hole)
The Letter (Bobby Lynch lv)
The Fever
Cadillac Jack
Hang Down Your Head
Happy/ bit of Polk Salad Annie
I Don’t Want to Go Home
Trapped Again
(bit of Smile)
Passion Street
Working Too Hard
(bit of Hurdy Gurdy Man)
(bit of House of the Rising Sun)
Mellow Yellow
(bit of Colours)
Hearts of Stone
Did I say the opening was wonderful? And, of course, we got Joey and Eddie solos one after the other, further frenzying the crowd, and then we got more Eddie because, as South explained, “Joey got 32 solos last night and Eddie got a half one, which I cut off, so it was only a quarter one…” South himself sounded ‘specially great on Unchain, Joe rattled the kit like a good’un, and Bobby L really swung that organ.
Renee gave us more soaring Joey and South getting to even greater heights; he commented afterwards “I’m sweating” but rebuffed Ricky’s offer of some hair gel: “Never did you any good”. Ricky himself was superb on the Baby/All Night Long sequence – he did Crossroads great, although South eventually pronounced: “we don’t do that song”. RB: “Should I take it back?” SJ: “Yeah, play it backwards”; so he did.
South then reminisced about how he played Bristol last year, except he didn’t play. “I was sick to my stomach because Joey took 36 solos. See, you have the soothing sound of the baritone” (Eddie demonstrates his cool, crooning tone) “and then you have the harsh, squealing, upsetting sound of the tenor” (whereupon Joey plays a lovely, smooth tenor phrase but ending on an ear-splitting squeak. But then a nice harp intro brought us a highly professional Gin-soaked boy, with a hot Chris solo, as often of late, which is nice, until Ricky, playing great slide guitar, was harassed by South shaking a cute bunch of mini-maraccas and trying to stuff them into the slide.
Sacrifice was Marjan’s request and sounded really nice tonight, despite this being its first outing of the tour. South informed the band (especially Bobby, who’s only 24 – did you know that?) that they didn’t know the pain of love and got the audience to “moan – for love that hurts so bad; groan – for the love you never had; scream – wow! And that’s a guy…” Muddy stood out driving that sequence; and then Bobby L’s backing vocals were so good he got to repeat the high line and told “That’s La Bamba – on a good day.”
After a wonderful Gladly Go Blind, with a beautiful ending: “It’s a long time for me, it’s a long time for you/ But I hope you’ll see what I’m going through/ Whatever it takes to make you happy, that’s what I want to do… one more time”, Bobby L got to sing again on You Don’t Know Like I Know, which was absolutely great tonight. Oh, those horns! And BL really had a night tonight: he played beautifully on Without Love (which had a quiet vocal reprise with the harmonies sounding lovely) and on Tired Skin (and so did Chris, what a star) and he got his own feature on The Letter (SJ: “this was a hit 3 times before he was born”), which he sang with real soul, Neal and then Chris both taking great solos on it.
Before that we had some messing with Sinful; a lady had presented South with a single yellow rose, and he claimed “The roses are fucking me up. That’s cos I only got one.” He tried placing it in his shirt, it fell out, so he tried winding it into the mic lead and when it fell out again, lost patience and stomped it into the floor. He then did a coy, squirming “wasn’t me” act and sang, to Sinful, “I’m an angel / Waiting for my wings”.
BL to the fore again with a lovely rippling intro to Fever (South ticking him off for being young and having too much energy) which led to a harp intro and then to a quiet first verse sung in harmony, a real mellow take on the horn part to the second verse, more harp, then BL letting rip on the organ, and a solo by Eddie. Terrific.
Happy was Glasgow John’s request: SJ: “Do I look happy to you?” RB: “Ecstatic”. SJ: “D’you say spastic? Ok, do it without the intro” – blithely ignored by Ricky. It sounded great, so South decided to have a chat: “I wore my Hawaiian shirt ’cause I was told Bristol was a seaside town with balmy weather – and barmy people. ‘Specially the front row.” He told Ricky put your wah-wah on, which was most effective till he handed Ricky the maraccas and played the right hand himself. Then he went onto Polk-salad Annie, but got back to a nice, mellow harmonised last chorus, which he described as the on Bon Jovi version.
I Don’t Want To Go Home started twice to celebrate the first time everybody got it right all tour, and, after a speech about not wanting to go, “but Prince Charles says I have to go. He’s still a prince – how old is he, 70? I’d rather be a vassal all my life than still be a prince at 70″, ended in a brilliant reggae version: “Oh I know that it’s time to go/ Though I hear Jamaica’s covered in snow”.
Coming out for the encores, South noticed afresh the rose petals he’d stomped around the stage “Aw, they strewed roses at my feet” and sang a verse of Smile solo. Ricky declined to follow him into standards territory, but during Passion Street they put on a circus act with Ricky trying to toss his plectra into South’s held-open shirt pocket, with Joe providing appropriate sound effects, except that Ricky kept missing: “He’s supposed to be co-ordinated, he’s a guitar-player. But guitar-players are all unco-ordinated. Except for Jimi Hendrix. He could play the guitar with his tongue behind his back. And that’s how he got chicks.”
Working Too Hard had the usual complaint from Ricky in the second verse, this time about a girl who was wearing taffeta. “Do I hear you say taffeta?” “Yes, taffeta. She was wearing this skimpy, little, skin-tight, shiny taffeta thing. I tried my best to chat her up, I was hoping for a night of fun/ But all my hopes were dashed when she chose Chris Anderson.” South, searching to complete a riposte about Ricky being born in Manhattan – “I can’t find a rhyme.” RB: “For 20 dollars, rhyme taffeta.” SJ: “He couldn’t join the Mafia”.
And finally, after the Jukes had once more been called back after the venue had put their own music on, a Donovan medley turned into a moving, full-band Hearts of stone and we all had group-hugs, tearful but happy.
