Anna NeonBilly Bragg plays Melbourne
May 15th 2008 02:13
The last time Billy Bragg played Melbourne he brought a full band which included legendary Small Faces keyboardist Ian McLagan. Many of his best-known anthems had been completely rearranged, for better or worse, and set to rockabilly and calypso rhythms. Billy even danced.
This time it was, as the title of his 1987 collection puts it, back to basics – nothing but the man, his electric guitar and a familiar vulpine reflection cast by the single spotlight on the far stage wall. A return to vintage Bragg – and the man needs no adornment.
Bragg’s starkly beautiful songs, stripped of all production and carried along on a wave of agit prop and amiable banter, are timelessly absorbing. Two hours and two encores later the sold-out crowd was still roaring for more.
Classics like Accident Waiting to Happen, Little Time Bomb, Greetings to the New Brunette and Levi Stubbs’ Tears need nothing but his plugged-in axe and flat-vowelled Essex accent to work their magic. The lyrics are still evocative of the cold, Thatcherite Britain that inspired them, yet they take me straight back to a suburban Australian teenage bedroom where I played them over and over.
Perhaps the pinnacle of his lyrical achievement is the ever-evolving Waiting for the Great Leap Forward, updated regularly to keep its political content fresh – so it’s the ‘Hugo Chavez highway’ in place of the original Che Guevara one, and ‘smart bombs in the hands of dumb people’. And he’s no stranger to what’s been going on over here – we get treated to a clever re-working featuring Howard and co as the villains.
A large measure of his time on stage is spent ‘in conversation’. He talks about being an old Clash fan, loving vinyl and preferring Melbourne to Sydney, a claim he backs up with The Yarra Song, which has a level of detail about Aussie rules football and Melbourne weather that makes his claim impossible to refute.
As always, his set is heavily peppered with the earnest political rants for which he has at times been lampooned. Back in 2003, in the midst of the Iraq invasion, the commentary was full of anger and disappointment. This time, drawing huge cheers from the crowd, he danced on the spectre of the erstwhile Howard government, and celebrated a potential new dawn in this country – though he warned against cynicism setting in. This monologue might have gone on perhaps a bit long for one or two cynics in the audience with tired 40-something feet, but for most it was a powerful moment of shared jubilation.
And the earnest discussion is punctuated by some moments of stand up comedy – Billy can be bloody hilarious, though there’s a heavy dose of ‘dad humour’ about his jocularity. But fair go – the man is a dad. During the coda of The Saturday Boy he throws in the riff of the White Stripes’ Seven Nation Army. Then, “for those who didn’t understand why the people under 30 were laughing”, he adds a quick blast of Smoke on the Water – “same shit different day”. He makes the audience vote on whether he should play a Bob Dylan or Carpenters cover (out of curiosity, I voted to hear his spin on the Carpenters) and then plays a snippet of the Carpenters’ Superstar before launching into Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice it’s Alright. What a card.
But it’s not just about showmanship and clever lyrics. In 1997, when Billy channelled Woody Guthrie’s lost song sheets through his own poignant melodies, he created a masterpiece in Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key, a ‘euphemistically erotic’, lilting ballad that demonstrates in a nutshell why Bragg is far more than a pamphleteer. The sheer beauty of the song transfixes the audience.
The final rousing number of the night is A New England, the Bragg song made popular by the late, great Kirsty Maccoll. Leading the crowd into its last chorus Billy prompts emotionally,“for Kirsty!”, and our full-bodied response is deafening. It’s magic.
This time it was, as the title of his 1987 collection puts it, back to basics – nothing but the man, his electric guitar and a familiar vulpine reflection cast by the single spotlight on the far stage wall. A return to vintage Bragg – and the man needs no adornment.
Bragg’s starkly beautiful songs, stripped of all production and carried along on a wave of agit prop and amiable banter, are timelessly absorbing. Two hours and two encores later the sold-out crowd was still roaring for more.
Classics like Accident Waiting to Happen, Little Time Bomb, Greetings to the New Brunette and Levi Stubbs’ Tears need nothing but his plugged-in axe and flat-vowelled Essex accent to work their magic. The lyrics are still evocative of the cold, Thatcherite Britain that inspired them, yet they take me straight back to a suburban Australian teenage bedroom where I played them over and over.
Perhaps the pinnacle of his lyrical achievement is the ever-evolving Waiting for the Great Leap Forward, updated regularly to keep its political content fresh – so it’s the ‘Hugo Chavez highway’ in place of the original Che Guevara one, and ‘smart bombs in the hands of dumb people’. And he’s no stranger to what’s been going on over here – we get treated to a clever re-working featuring Howard and co as the villains.
A large measure of his time on stage is spent ‘in conversation’. He talks about being an old Clash fan, loving vinyl and preferring Melbourne to Sydney, a claim he backs up with The Yarra Song, which has a level of detail about Aussie rules football and Melbourne weather that makes his claim impossible to refute.
As always, his set is heavily peppered with the earnest political rants for which he has at times been lampooned. Back in 2003, in the midst of the Iraq invasion, the commentary was full of anger and disappointment. This time, drawing huge cheers from the crowd, he danced on the spectre of the erstwhile Howard government, and celebrated a potential new dawn in this country – though he warned against cynicism setting in. This monologue might have gone on perhaps a bit long for one or two cynics in the audience with tired 40-something feet, but for most it was a powerful moment of shared jubilation.
And the earnest discussion is punctuated by some moments of stand up comedy – Billy can be bloody hilarious, though there’s a heavy dose of ‘dad humour’ about his jocularity. But fair go – the man is a dad. During the coda of The Saturday Boy he throws in the riff of the White Stripes’ Seven Nation Army. Then, “for those who didn’t understand why the people under 30 were laughing”, he adds a quick blast of Smoke on the Water – “same shit different day”. He makes the audience vote on whether he should play a Bob Dylan or Carpenters cover (out of curiosity, I voted to hear his spin on the Carpenters) and then plays a snippet of the Carpenters’ Superstar before launching into Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice it’s Alright. What a card.
But it’s not just about showmanship and clever lyrics. In 1997, when Billy channelled Woody Guthrie’s lost song sheets through his own poignant melodies, he created a masterpiece in Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key, a ‘euphemistically erotic’, lilting ballad that demonstrates in a nutshell why Bragg is far more than a pamphleteer. The sheer beauty of the song transfixes the audience.
The final rousing number of the night is A New England, the Bragg song made popular by the late, great Kirsty Maccoll. Leading the crowd into its last chorus Billy prompts emotionally,“for Kirsty!”, and our full-bodied response is deafening. It’s magic.
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Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
Fantastic review
Comment by Tyronne
Music Times
Sydney Fun
Vintage Culture
Melbourne DiaryStar
Comment by Susanna Nelson
Rock n Flicks
Tyrone - in most cases I would agree. Musicians are often unqualified to make 'political speeches' on stage. Not Billy Bragg - his songs are filled with political commentary. It wouldn't be a Billy Bragg show if he didn't mention politics. But his fans know what to expect!