A greener shade of blues

A twenty minute walk from my house brings me to a supermarket, once the Granada Cinema, where The Rolling Stones played a gig in 1965. Fifteen minutes away in the opposite direction is an apartment block, the site of the Oldfield Tavern where in 1962 a drummer called Keith Moon auditioned for a band called The Who. They played gigs there throughout 1963 at the Music Club which also hosted Screaming Lord Sutch and many others. It is easy to imagine these young men travelling through the green and pleasant suburb of Ealing, ready to set the world on fire with their sound. With such an impressive musical history it is hardly surprising that Ealing holds an annual festival and this year I made the effort to attend the blues event held in Walpole Park.

At £4 for a day’s entry it is extraordinarily good value. The event is held in what used to be Sir John Soane’s back garden, just off a high street lined with the usual stores. The sun shone on this particular day, but had it proved wet and muddy, the day-glo wristband I was issued with would have allowed me to nip out to Marks and Spencers for some clean clothes or into Pitshanger Manor to dry out. In some ways this is part of the problem with this event and I’m afraid I did have a problem with it.

As at any other music festival there were the usual stalls flogging dream catchers and ethnic clothing but while I was there hardly anyone was buying because the age group for that kind of thing was barely in evidence. In fact the image I took away with me was of the many foldaway chairs that almost filled the main tent. I’ve seen these things advertised in the Observer colour supplement but until now I didn’t know that anyone actually bought them. They even outnumbered the pushchairs, and there were a lot of those.

Once parked in these things their owners just seemed to sit there, a few feet away from bands that were giving it their all. Occasionally someone would head to or from the bar with a beer which they would then place in the specially designed drink holder on the arm rest. They actually used it. How uncool. I found it hard to determine whether any of them were having a good time. I could have got it wrong. Perhaps these were the same people who sat listening reverently to singers in clubs in the sixties and they are still doing it fifty years later. On the other hand it might be that the worthy citizens of the borough were just making sure they got their money’s worth from a council subsidised event. Enjoyment didn’t appear to come into it.

On the smaller South Stage Sam Kelly’s Station House revue featured singer Debbie Giles, TJ Johnson and local guitar player Lally. A group of accomplished musicians who clearly love performing together, they sounded really tight and even though there were some foldaway chairs in evidence their occupants managed to behave as though they still had a pulse. The band were enjoying themselves and had nothing to prove.

Sandi Thom was promoting her new blues influenced album, “Merchants and Thieves”, on the main stage. Perhaps 3pm was just too early a slot but it was a shame that a talented and fresh blues voice was exposed to such a dozy audience (the obligatory dancing drunks didn‘t count). It wasn’t helped by the number of photographers, amateur or otherwise, who began to pop up during her set, to the point where a security guard intervened. This drew the wrath of one man who deliberately encouraged two small boys to dart about right in front of the stage with cameras for the rest of the performance, distracting to everyone and unbelievably rude. I was standing well away from the stage but put my own camera away out of embarrassment.

A great singer, I think Sandi deserved a better reception and I hope that if she returns to Ealing she and her excellent band will be treated with more respect. Another Scot with a particular affinity for the blues, she has embraced them and made them her own. I loved the fact that someone who has had a single at number one in seven countries was still prepared to sell t-shirts and CDs herself and sign them afterwards. She even unwrapped mine for me when I just stood there, star struck! This seemed to be the only opportunity to buy music at the event and although I realise that the download is now king, it seemed strange that this should be the case along with a lack of t-shirts, a staple of every other gig I’ve been to.
　 Music fans struggle to pay for and attend gigs in muddy fields in the middle of nowhere but this conveniently situated one is so cheap and safe that it might as well be a funfair. The local council supports it because it brings more money to the area, generating another layer of income. My impression of Ealing’s annual blues festival is that is a place where people come to socialise rather than celebrate a musical genre that grew from the pared down wisdom, wit and humour of impoverished African Americans, expressed in the most beautiful soul searing way. At this event the music is almost incidental. I went home while it was still light. If I had paid more perhaps I would have stayed all evening to get my money’s worth.

The Stones fell in love with music which evolved in prisons, farms and shacks, far from the comfortable suburbia they grew up in, and had respect for those who made it. I wish Ealing was a magnet for young guitar based musicians and genuine fans, an up and coming generation to ward off the onslaught of over commercialised plastic pop but I’m not sure that you can recreate New Orleans in London without making the area a place where they can flourish and perform with fewer restrictions. The Stones and The Who came about because there used to be so many pubs, clubs and other small venues where they could perform and find each other. You seem to need expensive licenses for everything now.

I have a great deal of respect for the organisers behind the event because they do actively promote Ealing’s blues heritage. My criticism is not aimed at them. I feel very strongly that it requires the intervention of a younger generation that genuinely loves that music, sees what Jagger saw in it and actually performs it. Council grants and worthy people who use the drinks holders on their foldaway chairs are no substitute for a respectful and truly appreciative audience.