CLÉMENTINE MARCH

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - CLÉMENTINE MARCH/PHIL MFU/JAMES REVERDY AT FOLKLORE, HACKNEY – 7/2/20

It doesn’t take me too long to walk to FOLKLORE from Rough Trade. I have printed off a little map of the route. It’s quite hard to read in the dark, but I get by, using the flashlight on my phone. It feels like quite an adventure. It’s quite exciting actually.

  

It’s a really small pub, and there’s no background to blend into, so I buy a drink out of awkwardness: half a pint of a weak I.P.A. The androgynous bar person pays me just enough attention to be able to serve me a drink.

  “Where do the bands play?” I ask. It’s not obvious. At least to me it’s not.

  “In the back,” says the bar person, pointing towards a room at the back of the pub. 

  Taking my drink in hand, I push open a door, and find myself in the back room where the bands play. The room is empty apart from the soundman and a couple of musicians. “Are you still sound checking?” I ask the soundman. 

  “Just finished,” says the soundman.

  I sit down on a bench against the wall. No one pays me any attention. I have come to realise that I am one of those people that most people pay no, or very little, attention to. Most people when they pass me in the street or catch sight of me in a room pay me no attention whatsoever. Or very little. 

  The room slowly fills, as people realise where it is, or realise that the time the live music is scheduled to start (nine o’clock) is fast approaching. I recognise a couple of people – a father and his daughter, it must be – who have also come from Rough Trade. I recognise also one of the original Rough Trade tote bag guys from the Hand Habits gig, the one who reminded me of wife’s uncle John. Later I will observe him carefully lining up a shot on his digital camera. 

  I sit scribbling blindly in the dark.

JAMES REVERDY is a curious sort of performer. He keeps introducing songs as covers even though they are his own songs. “I meant to have a whole new set of songs for tonight’s gig,” he explains, “but I didn’t have time.” He plays the guitar and sings, accompanied by a lady playing a sparkly gold violin. At one point he starts introducing her before realising that he doesn’t know her surname. 

  “It’s Stock,” she tells him. 

  “Charlie Stock everybody,” he says. “On the violin.” He turns his head to the side to look at her, while maintaining his closeness to the microphone. “You haven’t heard this one before, but feel free to play along if you want. It’s in D, I think.” She doesn’t. She decides not to play along.

  He finishes with a cover of The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, which reminds me what a beautiful song it is. I have a copy of Peggy Seeger singing it, which I must dig out when I get home.

PHIL MFU is a member of Vanishing Twin. He also makes a sort of psychedelic space music on little keyboards. 

  “Hi, I’m Phil,” he says. “I used to be the Man From Uranus, but the intergalactic council revoked my licence, and now I’m just Phil.” Halfway through his first song, called Rejection Music, his keyboard malfunctions. “That’s why they revoked my licence,” he says. “I’m not going to get it back at this rate.” He’s funny, Phil MFU. It’s kind of psychedelic space comedy music. It’s a lot of fun. One song is about ducks. I think it’s called Duck War. Another is called Marooned on Mercury. “I wrote this during a heatwave,” Phil explains. “California was on fire. Other places were on fire. My brain was on fire.” The song contains the lyric, “Hot space,” repeated over and over. 

Everything about CLÉMENTINE MARCH is very lovely. The music is very lovely. All the band seem very lovely. The guest musicians are very lovely. The record label are lovely. The promoters, also, are very lovely. “The world may be fucked,” she says, “but at least we have Phil MFU.” Who’s lovely, and joins them for a couple of songs. 

  One of the songs is about a movie theatre catching fire, which is lovely. Another is about homelessness, which is more lovely than it sounds (not homelessness, the song). Luckily it’s in French so instead of sounding drab and dreary it sounds lovely, and I drift away on a lovely little cloud of sound. I really like it when singing is in a different language and I don’t understand so I don’t have to try and listen to the words and think about what they mean. It’s lovely. When it comes to music words more often than not just get in the way, if you ask me. Dana Gavanski makes a lovely guest appearance. Clémentine March says lovely things about her and she tells Clémentine that she loves her, which is lovely. And then Phil MFU returns for the last couple of songs as the set builds to a euphorically lovely psychedelic climax. The last song really is quite magnificent. And lovely. Phil MFU is ripping it up on his lovely little keyboards, and everyone, including the band, is transfixed. It’s a lovely show. There’s a lovely feeling about it.