.jpg)
Photo:
If you see an old haggard man wearing dungarees staggering towards you, a guitar slung over his shoulder and a bottle of Jack in his hand, you probably cross the street. If he happens to be Seasick Steve, you join 2000 other people and watch him play blues so raw and raucous you don’t know whether to take that whiskey from him or buy him another bottle.
After emerging with a manic grin from the eager crowd, he reels straight into ‘Things Go Up’, churning up a primitive riff before orchestrating aurally-pleasing audience accompaniment. The Astoria’s terraced style aids his aim of producing a sound “like a gospel choir,” but the results owe more to infectious enthusiasm than acoustics. With each brash stroke of his guitar, his songs, with the simplicity and authenticity that define their singer, marry visceral rage with loveable ease.
This twisting of tenderness and harsh reality is evident in his freewheeling storytelling. As he casually reminisces of simpler times, he is glib without being deceptive, indulgent but never boring. The set is loose, but hangs on to the exciting edge of uncertainty. A willingness to experiment is seen when KT Tunstall appears to duet on ‘Happy Man.’ The Scottish singer’s voice is slightly lost underneath Steve’s coarse vocals, but it’s a moment as charming as it is bizarre.
Seasick Steve’s horizons are limited, but his portraits are illuminating. ‘Cut My Wings’, which sees the drummer of former band The Level Devils add depth to Steve’s instinctive playing, isn’t particularly different from ‘Fallen Off A Rock.’ Most songs see a deep, booming sound rumbling over narrow, charged lyrics.
There isn’t much to analyse or build on, the music feeds on a more blatant, physical attachment. The secret is the passion the tracks are played with and the sheer geniality of Seasick Steve. He sings a soft, clumsy melody to a girl lifted from the audience; he looks genuinely startled by the adulation. “I wanna say if my mama could see me now,” he chuckles, wide-eyed. “But I didn’t like her too much.”
As he brings his grandson onstage to play tambourine on the emphatic force of ‘Dog House Boogie,’ the sense of occasion grows. The song refuses to end, Steve grinding the notes into the ground with savage intensity. It finally collapses inwards and the crowd reluctantly retreats. The prevailing feeling is that one of the good guys has made it.
