Waterson / Carthy (with added Waterson)
Nov. 11th, 2005 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustAs we drove into Hartlepool last night, a late bouquet of fireworks bloomed over the Headland. Which was only proper, because we were on our way to see Martin Carthy and Norma Waterson at the Studio.
The Studio is a converted Baptist church; you don't expect a great bar in a Baptist church, and you don't get one: the beer is unreliable, but the wine is worse. Luckily, this doesn't much matter. We arrived early, snagged a table near the front and, since Chaz was accompanying us, settled down in the darkness to catch up on some gossip.
It was such a shock to the eye when the stage lights came up that at first these two figures appeared to be dressed in matching pajamas, his white, hers black - some sort of division between the forces of night and day, perhaps? Nothing so exotic: Martin Carthy wore faded jeans and a white shirt, Norma Waterson wore black trousers and blouse, with plenty of sparkle round the hems.
I've seen Martin Carthy at any number of gigs, in any number of different line-ups and locations over the last forty years; yet somehow I've never seen Norma Waterson live before. So this was new to me: her way of taking command of the stage, her rich and powerful voice, which nonetheless places itself second and the song first. The first songs, she sang and he played accompaniment, that very rythmic guitar with the distinctive way of attacking each chord, each note. Then it was his turn to take the limelight, and she sat back on the stage (where a table with two chairs and two glasses of water was waiting ready, all very domestic), occasionally humming along to herself.
Songs: Norma sang Bright Shiny Morning, the version, she explained, of Streets of Laredo / Saint James Infirmary as sung on Monserrat; and Green Grows the Laurel, which she learned from Queen Caroline Hughes, and the familiar tales of lovers lost at sea, and an unfamiliar tale of a lover returned from sea bearing his half of the broken token, but attempting nonetheless to seduce his true love with a tale of how her lover, with his dying breath, had bequeathed the token (and her with it) to himself, a shipmate whom she had never met before. She spurns his advances, not recognising him until he throws himself into her arms...
Martin sang Georgie, and The Foggy Dew and most of Sir Patrick Spens before he lost the words, and played The Cuckoo's Nest, with the explanation that he had learned it long ago from Dave Swarbrick, and that Dave was very well, with his new clean pink lungs, thank you for asking, and he, Martin, was about to visit him.
And since Norma's brother had given them a lift to Hartlepool, we had a couple of songs from Mike Waterson, too. He seems to have become a Yorkshireman of an older generation than the others, with his flat cap and funny songs - but they were funny, one with a catchy nonsense refrain and one of his own about the evils of the coffee machine.
And more -
The Studio is a converted Baptist church; you don't expect a great bar in a Baptist church, and you don't get one: the beer is unreliable, but the wine is worse. Luckily, this doesn't much matter. We arrived early, snagged a table near the front and, since Chaz was accompanying us, settled down in the darkness to catch up on some gossip.
It was such a shock to the eye when the stage lights came up that at first these two figures appeared to be dressed in matching pajamas, his white, hers black - some sort of division between the forces of night and day, perhaps? Nothing so exotic: Martin Carthy wore faded jeans and a white shirt, Norma Waterson wore black trousers and blouse, with plenty of sparkle round the hems.
I've seen Martin Carthy at any number of gigs, in any number of different line-ups and locations over the last forty years; yet somehow I've never seen Norma Waterson live before. So this was new to me: her way of taking command of the stage, her rich and powerful voice, which nonetheless places itself second and the song first. The first songs, she sang and he played accompaniment, that very rythmic guitar with the distinctive way of attacking each chord, each note. Then it was his turn to take the limelight, and she sat back on the stage (where a table with two chairs and two glasses of water was waiting ready, all very domestic), occasionally humming along to herself.
Songs: Norma sang Bright Shiny Morning, the version, she explained, of Streets of Laredo / Saint James Infirmary as sung on Monserrat; and Green Grows the Laurel, which she learned from Queen Caroline Hughes, and the familiar tales of lovers lost at sea, and an unfamiliar tale of a lover returned from sea bearing his half of the broken token, but attempting nonetheless to seduce his true love with a tale of how her lover, with his dying breath, had bequeathed the token (and her with it) to himself, a shipmate whom she had never met before. She spurns his advances, not recognising him until he throws himself into her arms...
Martin sang Georgie, and The Foggy Dew and most of Sir Patrick Spens before he lost the words, and played The Cuckoo's Nest, with the explanation that he had learned it long ago from Dave Swarbrick, and that Dave was very well, with his new clean pink lungs, thank you for asking, and he, Martin, was about to visit him.
And since Norma's brother had given them a lift to Hartlepool, we had a couple of songs from Mike Waterson, too. He seems to have become a Yorkshireman of an older generation than the others, with his flat cap and funny songs - but they were funny, one with a catchy nonsense refrain and one of his own about the evils of the coffee machine.
And more -
