Week 9

Week 9 – Thursday 3rd March  – The Globe, Cardiff – Larry Miller (The Tim Crahart Band)

“Why isn’t he a superstar?”

No, the above quote does not relate to Sandro. It is in fact a question posed by Classic Rock Magazine, and it appears on the homepage of Gigaweek’s entertainer of choice for Week 9, Larry Miller. I assume it refers to Larry rather than Sandro anyway, otherwise it would be very confusing.

In a week where we’d decided to wing it, having not planned in advance, we were left with two contenders for the honour of hosting Gigaweek 9.


Amy Can Flyy and Larry Miller.

What a poser. Naturally, I’d heard of neither. Naturally, Sandro was a huge fan of both. Particularly Amy Can Flyy.

“They’re like that amazing band we saw at the You Me At Six gig. Canterbury, remember?”

“The one’s you called StephenHuntBury?” I asked, vaguely recalling their irritating singer.

“Yeah that’s them. Well they’re actually incredible! And Amy Can Flyy are even better!.”

(You’re right to be sceptical about the above exchange. Of course Sandro doesn’t prefer Amy Can Flyy to Canterbury.)

Nevertheless, after listening to a song from each, I dissuaded him and we opted for blues guitarist Miller instead.

Classic Rock Magazine weren’t Larry Miller’s only fans. He was also described as a “sensational rock blues guitarist” by Guitar World USA. Well, his website said he was anyway. I made no attempt to verify with Guitar World USA or Classic Rock Magazine to be honest, so maybe Larry was just pulling a fast one.

Come to think of it, I’m not even sure if Guitar World USA or Classic Rock Magazine are real people.

In a moment of inspiration, Sandro had decided it would be an appropriate occasion to invite our father, Parge, to join us. I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, and I wasn’t sure he’d accept. He was nearly as old as Larry. And who would give us a lift?

But accept he did, so Sandro decided we’d probably have to plan a gig sometime where we could invite our mother, Marge.

“What do old women like?” I wondered aloud when we broke the news to her.

“Who says I won’t like Larry Miller,” Marge replied. “I like a bit of head banging.”

After reminding her we were going to see a blues guitarist and not a heavy metal band, she confirmed she was still keen, and it was settled. 

Just when it seems like we can't get any cooler, we start going to gigs with our parents. Gigaweekers are always one step ahead.

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Sandro, Parge, Her Margesty and I took in a pre-gig drink at The George, whose regulars, mostly students, were no match for our combined ages, before we headed to The Globe. 

“You? You’ve come back! You don’t want a refund for last time, do you?” the old boy on the door greeted us as we entered. Once more we amazed him with our pre-paid tickets, and headed in.

What was I expecting? A bit of Clapton? Jack White? With my exceedingly limited knowledge of blues and blues influenced music, I didn’t know what to expect, but that was half the fun. 


The closest I’ve come to live blues music before was probably Siencyn’s cover of Seasick Steve in Week 2. This was much more up Parge’s street. Blues is one of many genres of music (along with all the others) I have no great knowledge of, so I was hoping for education as well as entertainment. I wasn’t disappointed.

Larry’s support came in the form of The Tim Crahart Blues Band. A gospel blues playing trio led somewhat surprisingly by a man called Tim Crahart. Tim's facial hair and shirt and tie combo evoked memories of the great Murray Hewitt, but unfortunately he didn't have a couple of gormless Kiwis for company.

Behind Tim and his band, the back of the stage was adorned with the image of a white poster with the words “No Drinkin’, No Cheatin’, No Shootin’” an apparent slogan that doubles as the name of their debut album, designed presumably to discourage Ashley Cole from attending their gigs.

While I wouldn’t quite apply their maxim to Gigaweek (I like Shootin’ too much), I enjoyed Tim and the band, as did my companions, particularly Marge, who danced happily while I looked away in horror.

Their set seemed to be a mix of original songs and covers of classic blues songs, the highlight being a sing-along near the end, with the song 'John the Revelator'. Tim invited the half-enthusiastic audience to sing “John the Revelator!” whenever he sung the words “Who’s that writing?” I didn’t know who John the Revelator was (presumably a rival blogger), but I was far too polite not to join in, although half the audience didn’t have such a problem.

Others, such as Her Margesty joined in with admirable gusto. So admirable in fact, that I took two further steps away from her. 

During their last song, a technical issue with the projector meant their slogan was briefly replaced by the Windows logo, and the message '3 Programs Running' which may well be a hint as to the title of their next album.

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“It’s Miller Time!” the headline act declared as he took to the stage, before launching into 'Mad Dog'. With his half open shirt, long hair and (in the nicest possible way) lived-in face, Sandro’s comment that Larry could well have been Justin Hawkins’ Dad was apt. My suggestion that the bassist was a ringer for Bruce Springsteen was probably a touch generous.

What followed was again a mixture of blues covers and original songs and was incredibly entertaining. By the end we were all asking the same question as our good friend Classic Rock Magazine; Why isn’t he a superstar? Well, there are plenty of reasons obviously, you might contend reasonably, but shut up. To see this man play his guitar, was to witness a wizard at work. I felt how I’m sure spectators feel when they see me lying down, like you're in the presence of a real master of his craft.

If he wasn’t completely crazy, he certainly wasn’t afraid to give the impression that he was. He displayed plenty of humour throughout, chastising the audience for our perceived lack of enthusiasm between songs, and asking us to make more noise, as well as inviting one vocal spectator up on stage to see if he could do any better, before sending him packing when he unexpectedly accepted the invitation.

Don’t worry, it wasn’t Sandro.

It was Parge.

As Sandro pointed out to an awestruck Marge, Larry was in complete control of each of his digits, with each finger operating independently with great dexterity. She, of course is from a family of mitten handed nincompoops and stood gobsmacked.

It was like a masterclass from a professional typist given to an old dear who is solely reliant on her index-fingers, except it wasn’t boring. That’s the thing about this kind of live music; you can appreciate the talent, the ability and skill of such a musician, as opposed to a few guys sat on stage with laptops in front of them.

“Man, I’ve got the blues. They call it a gift, I call it a curse,” Larry sang on 'As Blue as it Gets'. Maybe it is a curse, in terms of commercial success. Far less talented musicians have managed to write incredibly catchy hooks that seep into the public’s consciousness and into the charts, while Larry tours the smaller venues around the country.

But then maybe that’s exactly what he loves doing. Touring the country, playing the type of music he loves and showing off his guitar solos. Judging by the gleeful look on his face, I’d say that’s quite likely.

“I’m a Blues man,” he continued toward the end of that same song, “just like. . . . .Jimi Hendrix!” before launching into a delightfully received rendition of Jimi’s 'Voodoo Child'. I’m unlikely to ever see Jimi live, unless Sandro ever gets that DeLorean fixed, so this was a more than welcome inclusion.

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They mixed the set up with some slower songs, including one called 'Delilah' which sadly had nothing to do with Tom Jones. He indulged in plenty of guitar soloing, hinting at ending one song on several occasions with a clash of the drums, but instead embarking on another solo with looks of delight to the audience.

On the whole, most of the other audience members were closer in age to Her Margesty and Parge, than to myself or Sandro, which was much to Marge’s relief. There were some particularly enthusiastic middle-aged ladies dancing at the front, but thankfully Marge resisted her obvious temptation to join them.

Larry talked with the crowd about the various South Wales venues he’d played over the years, and there was room for the obligatory mention of the Welsh language. He proved the usefulness of bilingual road signs, making a decent fist of the Welsh word for services (Gwasanaethau) before introducing a song the Welsh way, with “un, dau, tri.”

For their encore, Larry picked up a glittering, golden guitar, and dedicated their final song to the recently deceased blues legend Gary Moore. 

I’d have enjoyed it much more if I hadn’t been desperate for the loo at the time.


Unfortunately, blues songs aren’t always the most concise, and I thought it might be considered innappropriate to leave during a tribute to a much loved guitarist who'd just passed away, so I stayed and grimaced.


What should have been a glorious finale was galling, and by the time he'd eventually finished, it was too late.

Leaving a puddle behind, I fled the Globe in a hurry.

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March

26-4 – Larry Miller - ✓
5-11 -?
12-18 -?
19-25 - Elbow
26-1 -?