T h Previous experience of the eh ea tre Royal, Drury Lane, s
ktarac i terised by Ginger Rogers in
nte, or was it Maim? Anyway ito`°Ple clapped a lot because she c-1)1 coming down a spiral stair:ftse in one outrageous get-up e o'er another without tripping tuv;irli once. At one point she acso-'4Y started to jive as if sponA-1,re,d bY The Vitamin Pills of 5,,—enca but there is nothing like f;,' old trouper still on the move reaffirming the potency of N`Lnflavin. She seemed to do ti"ter better on that and tennis gian did Noel Coward on monkey rfarIns. There was also the last wIght of The Great Waltz, which 4,,es set in Viennanna, when the ajtdience in lieu of any substantial se`ternative applauded the stage Sv'ris and let's try to out-encore A histrionic evening was lea", uY all, particularly by the male adrItstrille_ in hand and toupee But maybe the charabanc trade is not what it was, for recently a whole string of rock concerts might justify the theatre being called a venue. I was supposed to see the Electric Light orchestra there a couple of weeks ago but someone forgot. Argent and the Incredible String Band have recently appeared, Monty Python's First Farewell Tour (their photograph occurs frequently in Melody Maker and a couple of them are into soul), runs for fourteen nights from February 26, Eno previously of Roxy Music runs for one night on March 12, and Gentle Giant (miraculous on record at least) on March 8, and the lugubrious Cat Stevens simply 'sometime in March.' There must be others.
Then, last Friday night Stomu Yamash'ta, the world famous Japanese percussionist, abetted by projected buddhas and discreet light show and a packed house, produced some extremely classy noises with his extremely groovy new rock band, East Wind. After a proto-Bowie entry in shocking pink wig falling to just off the knee he then invaded a vast accumulation of pots and pans while the others surged foward on a riff which can only be described as seismic, with a curiously independent personality only encountered in the presence of fine musicians. This was no heavy-lidded, wantonly mind-bending, free-form electronic work-out.Nor on the other hand was it the familiar bash-tinkle-tinkle-bash of some of our most commeticially successful groups. Instead of the doom which frequently solemnises into frigidity cum paranoia those events labelled 'avant-garde,' here was lightness, authority and 22 carat funk. As far as one could make out the half dozen or so musicians were largely English but Stomu's sister plays the violin like a switched-on schoolgirl in love, and the conga player looked archetypally West Coast acid. He patted the skins with spirit, laughed a great deal, from time to time vocalised in company with a princess from the Wailing Wall.
Stomu I expected to be more flash since his presence in classical situations is often called demonic. But no, he was laughing too, having just been nominated for two Grammy awards by the American recording industry for his score to The Man From The East, the first Japanese musician thus decorated, and was playing the most elaborate percussion kit I have ever seen the way a serpent navigates through pond weed, while another drummer supplied more basic beat lines. The music, if it recalls anything, evokes Caribbean carnival but that could be because half my friends are in Barbados at the moment, or, by extension, derived from the presence of my Fijian companion. Buoyant with delight, I wanted to dance but the seats were extremely comfortable and phlegm did the rest. One has since compensated by jumping to East Winds LP, Freedom Is Frightening (Island, £2.15) and always feels the better for it.
Previous page
