A Russian Gypsy band which appears to come from Glasgow (and the guitar rhythm section is called Nigel Clarke so possibly not born east of Lowestoft). The possibly Russians do a variety of jolly tunes on two violins, some of them very fast and furious. Predictably enough, the tunes I liked best they described afterwards as “gypsy jazz.”
In all the Portland Street Pedestrians merry wanderings, I doubt there is one which has ever covered so little ground as this – all within the military HQ of the Roman Army of the North – about as far as the average legionary had to walk from his barracks to the latrines.
Starting at the would-be-ancient but actually rather new Lamb and the Lion, in the shadow of Bootham Bar. One of those hard wood pubs, and kept rather dim, but with several separate rooms, some quite snug. On a few modest yards, to the Hole in the Wall, where there was a nice pint of Jennings. The food menu looked good too but there’s something unhomely about it. We escaped before the quiz and headed for the Guy Fawkes, omitting the Three Legged Mare and the York Arms on the way – nothing wrong with them except being well-known already. The Guy Fawkes, long established as Young’s Hotel, had found a new popularity, aided no doubt by late-night Christmas shopping, so we headed past the Minster and the upside down column from the old HQ to the Cross Keys.
There’s a school of public house management that believes that the brightest possible lighting is an encouragement to discerning topers. This school also finds the hand-pump a bit of an intrusion, preferring shiny pipework and illuminated lettering rearing up over the bar. At the Cross Keys both these misconceptions were in evidence, though the one draught beer on offer, Santa’s Tipple, was acceptable enough, with just a hint of what may have been reindeer droppings.
We were on safer ground at the Golden Slipper, which was keeping its Deuchars bitter exceptionally well. We might well have settled down for another were it not for the juke box, which had some regrettably loud offerings, so, having sent a scout ahead to see what room there was at the Royal Oak, we ended up in the back bar by the fire, very cosy and with the lighting level just right for the first time all evening. A nice glass of Jennings Cumberland Ale finished off the evening most acceptably.
One important discovery of the evening was that the originator of the ponzi fraud was our very own George Hudson, the Railway King, back in the 19th century. So Mr Madoff has York to thank for his (until recent) success !
…Fibbers is a crap venue. However, it hosted the sublime Martin Simpson and we even managed to get a seated view of the stage. Simpson is just brilliant – he plays the guitar in so many different styles, he does songs in so many different styles too. I hadn’t realised before that he’d lived in New Orleans for several years – accounts for the number of blues numbers he does. He started the set with Chris Wood’s “Come down Jehovah” – made up in a few minutes for the wrong time on the tickets (half an hour before even the doors opened) and the lacklustre support act.
Had a nice pint of York Brewery’s “Guzzler” in the Last Drop while we waited for Fibber’s doors to open.
In spite of their name, they are from the UK and they did mostly lengthy Spanish peasant histoires. All jolly enough, pleasant to listen to: counter-tenor, tenor, bass and a woman tenor (not sure about that – but not a soprano or alto). Accompanied by harp and lute. Like many groups doing medieval music, which is often heavy going, bright and amusing verbal introductions helped to take the edge off the obscurity.
Hansa’s vegetarian Indian (Gujarati) Restaurant in North Street Leeds is really good. Cheap-ish, tasty, quick service. Only a couple of minutes walk beyond the Grand Theatre (via one of the most pedestrian hostile environments ever navigated – just wait for the pedestrian lights -it’s well worth it).
An exhibition of contemporary textiles at the Whitworth Art Gallery in Manchester. (I can’t like Manchester – it just seems a mess – I probably need to spend more time there). But the Whitworth is cool, in an old-fashioned lately modernised sort of way and has an adequate cafe. The textiles, produced by artists from Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Japan and the UK were stunning. I’m always impressed by the innovation, imagination and accessibility of contemporary textile art. (in comparison, maybe, to the sort of Art that enters for the Turner Prize). Beautiful 3 dimensional highly textured pieces, not all hung vertically, using a huge variety of materials but all involving some kind of weaving/embroidery/knitting/felting/stitching. This wasn’t the Weavers’ Guild or the Embroiderers’ Guild but those organisations are also at the forefront in challenging assumptions and habits. Some institutions we think of as stuffy are far from it. Don’t forget it was the WI who booed Tony Blair when he served them up lies and platitudes at their conference when he was PM.
A venue new to me in Leeds is Seven, up on the Harrogate Road in Chapel Allerton – quite a nice space, set out this time in a mixture of raked seats and cafe style tables at the front. The attraction was the Christian Wallumrod Ensemble in acoustic mode – him on piano , Nils Okland on Hardanger fiddle and viola d’amore, Arve Henrikson on Trumpet, and Per Oddvar Johansen on percussion. (The last, by the way, is a blond giant of a man – one can imagine him storming up the beach at Lindisfarne waving a broadsword, terrifying monks – apologies for stereotyping). A lot of what they do is quite delicate and was just right for a small venue. They make some lovely sounds – sometimes quite hypnotic, building up a piece slowly and carefully. I like the Norse expansiveness of it all. 3 long pieces in each set, and a short encore. A real delight.
The Wales Theatre Company did thisat the Lyceum in Sheffield. The Wales bit means that some of the minor parts had Welsh accents – it wasn’t like Northern Broadsides where everybody has to talk Yorkshire. This was Romeo and Juliet out of West Side Story, rather than the other way round. The capulets were a leather gang, the Montagues not. The fight scenes were good- more like dances – and Mercutio absolutely baffled Tybalt by barely taking the conflict seriously. Juliet is always a difficult part – usually a bit screechy – and this was a little. Overall I enjoyed the edgy gang-culture feel – mummy Capulet was a convincing moll – and the lads had the aimlessness of youth. Friar Laurence more powerful than usual – a stronger figure. The ending was bizarre – the whole explanation bit after the deaths in the tomb was omitted – which doesn’t really apportion any responsibility. A very strange decision.