It was a packed night, full of good cheer and free love. Or, well, reasonably priced love. And in the people-heated room, two men wade through the expectorant masses.
Sorry, I mean expectant. Expectant masses.
These men are Danny Powell and Mark Thompson, and they stride towards the stage looking like some musical good cop / bad cop routine. Danny is dressed almost totally in black - his shoes, his leather jacket, his guitar, his hair - and Mark is the opposite, his blonde and spiky coiffure mirroring his guitar and belt, all the while complementing his thinly-striped white shirt and light blue jeans. Could this be intentional? I doubt it, but it's amusing nonetheless, particularly for those people whose lives are completely devoid of humour, à la yours truly.
But as certain Pop Idolators must surely have realised by now, looks mean nothing. What a musician should be judged on is their talent and, oh my, these guys have a lot. Beautiful harmonies and intricate workings between the two guitars build to deliver finely-tuned songs, full of warmth and musicianship. If Danny Powell didn't do it right, his music could be set aside as just another singer/songwriter-y sideshow, but he does do it right. It becomes something more, with the kind of simple intricacy - if you'll excuse the term - that Bon Jovi is completely unaware of. And if there's a better sing-along song than Danny Powell's Any Woman, Any Man, I haven't heard it.
Black Country Music came - mostly - straight from work to play us their British, American-inspired folk/country mix for the first time. The folky foursome, comprising, at various times, a mandolin, a fiddle, a banjo, acoustic, resonator and half-size guitars and complex harmonies, made the audience realise what country is for. It's not about cowboy boots and high-collared shirts, at least not necessarily; it's about having fun, about having a good time. It's about clapping your hands and just generally having a good old knees out. Up. Knees... up.
Moray McLaren returned to PAS from, oh, a long time ago, bringing with him his brilliant voice and superb songwriting skills. Moray is the kind of artist that knows exactly what goes where, when to make the tune complex, when to make it subtle or simple. Pertinence, I think, is the term. Or is it...? No. No, that's right. Anyway, while speech is frowned upon at PAS during the performances, an overheard snippet of conversation regarding Moray's set pretty well sums up the general feeling. "He's really good, isn't he?" someone said to her friend. Yes, love. Yes, he is.
Lastly, but not leastly, Saul Ashby returned to PAS with only a few hours notice due to someone else pulling out because of, I don't know, stoat flu or something. Despite the heat on stage, Saul insisted on wearing his comfy cardigan and a nanometer-thin scarf. He didn't realise, he said afterwards, that it would be so hot up there, and he was worried that if he took the extrapolated items off, there'd be a guitar-shaped sweat patch on his t-shirt.
No, not extrapolated. Extra...marital? You know what I mean, don't you? It means, like, not needed. Oh,
extraneous. Yeah, extraneous items. Dur.
Saul, as always, enthralled the watching multiplex - er, multitude - with his dynamic, emotional and energetic style. He really does pour his heart and Saul into his songs (Buh Dum Tsch) and PAS wants to have his babies. No, seriously. "Meaty" Pete, the compère, after taking pages of notes for the other performers, simply wrote one line under Saul's name: "We love him."
The
Portobello Acoustic Sessions is held every Thursday night from 7:30 at The Metropolitan bar, Westbourne Park.
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The PAS Diaries: Danny Powell, Black Country Music, Moray McLaren and Saul Ashby
The PAS Diaries: Felix Fables, Saul Ashby, Nick Tatham and Nicol