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 The Vortex was sold out last night (29 August), with most of the audience – a blend of grizzled old hippies and fresh-faced, nu-folk devotees (and a tall guy who, inevitably sat right in front of me) – looking forward to seeing the Incredible String Band’s legendary Mike Heron.
To get here, we had to cross the depressing Gillett Square, trumpeted recently by Hackney Council as an open space to equal the finest of Europe’s piazzas, teeming with non-stop music, culture and buzz (I paraphrase). As usual, the reality was a few street drinkers, a couple of kids falling off skateboards, another couple doing wheelies on their bikes and… well, that’s about it. What a waste of a potential cultural centre for Hackney.
Anyway, the evening was kicked off by a few acoustic numbers from a self-effacing young singer/songwriter, who’s obviously been listening to James Taylor (well done, fella) and Nick Drake (why?). His finger picking was technically accomplished, if a bit predictable, and he had not a bad voice, if you could hear it. (A problem with the evening throughout was the muddy sound mix with the instruments drowning out the vocals.) Mind you, he played a John Fahey number, so that’s all right with me.
Then on came the Heron, a smiling, pixie-like figure clearly intent on enjoying himself, with his daughter Georgia on keyboards and accompanied by fiddler and a rather good guitar (and strumstick – look it up) player, all a generation younger than Mike. The set was almost entirely composed of String Band material from the 1960s and there were no complaints from this reviewer. Although he had to put his specs on to re-tune his guitar, Mike’s voice, delivery and enthusiasm had not dimmed with age. He performed classics such as Painting Box, Black Jack David and the joyful hillbilly Log Cabin Home In The Sky with the same glee and bardic power as he did with the more meandering epics for which the ISB were famed.
Playing the benign circus ringmaster, Mike led his youthful charges through A Very Cellular Song, Douglas Traherne Harding (‘light that is one though the lamps be many’), and a glorious seven-part vocal harmony on Sleepers Awaken, joined by members of Trembling Bells. The misty-eyed beardies, myself included, were having a fine nostalgic evening, mumbling their accompanying way through some of Mike’s obscurer lyrics, but delighted that they remembered them (which is more than Mike did on Log Cabin).
Disappointingly, he signed off at the end of the first set, and the second half of the evening belonged to Trembling Bells, who began brightly enough with a two-part unaccompanied vocal harmony number, followed by some sub-Steeleye Span rock, redeemed by the sweet voice of the singer whose voice put me in mind, on occasion, of Joni Mitchell. There is no doubt about the band’s musical talent, but the grungey, ear-shattering final few numbers defeated me, and left me longing for ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ or anything more uplifting. The guitarist was again in fine form but was blasted out by the organ, a combination probably of the acoustics and the sound mix. A good festival band but too overpowering for the intimate Vortex.
I suspect that there will be those annoyed by the Vortex announcing a Mike Heron evening and then allowing him to retire after one set. It didn’t make much sense to me nor to my mate, who had brought some crystalline ginger as a present for Mike (don’t ask), and they didn’t pay £15 to watch Trembling Bells.
However, it was heartening to see a survivor of the 1960s still in fine form and fettle, and Mike Heron will to me always be a reminder of those faraway, psychedelic days of mystic rainbows, dreamy sunsets and cousin caterpillars.
Review by Rab MacWilliam
Photography by Marilyn Kingwell
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