Signing in three part harmony
Feb. 23rd, 2020 06:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustOn Thursday we were at Northern Stage for the Young'uns' show, The Ballad of Johnny Longstaff, for which the seed must already have been sown when I saw them two years ago in a revival of Peter Bellamy's The Transports, and was particularly impressed by their contribution.
Here's an earlier Guardian artice in which the Young'uns' Sean Cooney tells the story himself, and here's the promotional video (effectively, the trailer):
For the record, and because it was puzzling me, when the Guardian talks about "an album of 17 songs"(where Cooney talks about 16) they are including The Valley of Jarama, which provides a perfect close for the show, but was not, of course, written for it. This is not the only point at which Sean Cooney's songs harness the strength of the familiar to give power to the new: not just the use of John Brown's Body remarked on by the Guardian, but the song Ay Carmela which weaves the refrain I know from the song Viva la Quince Brigada into something new, and The Great Tomorrow which is haunted by the International:
And The Valley of Jarama also uses the tune of an older song, if it comes to that.
I realise I'm talking about the show as if it were a concert, and that's probably the way to approach it: as a play it is minimally staged, and the actors are not, as they say themselves, actors but singers. As a concert, it goes the extra mile, offering such extras as the recorded voice of Johnny Longstaff himself (from the collection of the Imperial War Museum) and a lively animated backcloth.
Plus: purely by chance, we were at the performance which was signed by Caroline Ryan, and she was terrific. The Young'uns may not be actors, but their interpreter was, and her vivid signing was a real bonus. Her presence on stage was never intrusive, but integrated perfectly, and provided an outlet for the banter for which the band are notorious, but which they were virtuously holding in check. "I hope you are signing in three part harmony," said Dave Eagles (who is blind, which gave the interchange an added something) and I could believe that she was.
Five years ago - to quote the Guardian's review - the folk band the Young'uns were approached after a gig with a story for a song – and it was one hell of a story. Duncan Longstaff shared the experiences of his father in the 1930s, hoping that it might have the makings of a tune or two. It ended up inspiring an album of 17 songs and a two-hour stage show.
Here's an earlier Guardian artice in which the Young'uns' Sean Cooney tells the story himself, and here's the promotional video (effectively, the trailer):
For the record, and because it was puzzling me, when the Guardian talks about "an album of 17 songs"(where Cooney talks about 16) they are including The Valley of Jarama, which provides a perfect close for the show, but was not, of course, written for it. This is not the only point at which Sean Cooney's songs harness the strength of the familiar to give power to the new: not just the use of John Brown's Body remarked on by the Guardian, but the song Ay Carmela which weaves the refrain I know from the song Viva la Quince Brigada into something new, and The Great Tomorrow which is haunted by the International:
And The Valley of Jarama also uses the tune of an older song, if it comes to that.
I realise I'm talking about the show as if it were a concert, and that's probably the way to approach it: as a play it is minimally staged, and the actors are not, as they say themselves, actors but singers. As a concert, it goes the extra mile, offering such extras as the recorded voice of Johnny Longstaff himself (from the collection of the Imperial War Museum) and a lively animated backcloth.
Plus: purely by chance, we were at the performance which was signed by Caroline Ryan, and she was terrific. The Young'uns may not be actors, but their interpreter was, and her vivid signing was a real bonus. Her presence on stage was never intrusive, but integrated perfectly, and provided an outlet for the banter for which the band are notorious, but which they were virtuously holding in check. "I hope you are signing in three part harmony," said Dave Eagles (who is blind, which gave the interchange an added something) and I could believe that she was.
