If you want to understand the appeal of Fishemen's Friends, look no further than front-man John Cleave's introduction to tonight's concert.
They are going to present, he says, an evening of rollicking, buggering, stomping, drunking sea shanties from the days when Britain ruled the waves!
Scattering of applause from the audience.
He continues, in a mincing, babyish voice "like we're going to do again now we've taken back control of our country."
Thunderous applause from the audience, and straight into A Drop of Nelson's Blood.
A drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm
A drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm
A drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm
And we'll all hang on behind
So roll the old chariot along
Roll the old chariot along
Roll the old chariot along
And we'll all hang on behind
And so on, for slightly too many verses.
Cleave says that the song was written to commemorate the death of Nelson in 1805. Jon Boden, the last time I heard him sing it, says that it was a Salvation Army temperance song that got turned into a drinking song. (It could have been the other way round, though. The Sally Anne certainly appropriated secular songs for revivalist purposes.) I am more inclined to believe Jon Boden; the song doesn't really have anything to do with Nelson.
Fishermen's Friends have got a very good answer to that kind of objection. "If you want to know more about the history of sea shanties...." says Jeremy "...then you probably need to take a long, hard look at your life."
They learn most of their songs off other people's records; they cut out verses and speed them up. They all quite genuinely live in Port Isaac and Padstow and they quite genuinely worked as fisherman and boat menders and lifeboat men and performed shanties on the beach before getting an album in the top ten. But they aren't traditionalists or source singers and they certainly didn't learn the songs on their fishing boats. Shanties are a Royal Navy tradition.
It doesn't matter one little bit.
The fictional producer of the fictional band in the fictional movie says that the people who buy a Fisherman's Friends CD are not just buying some tunes -- they are buying the whole idea of the age of sail, Britain as a seafaring nation. That's why we can clap the idea of England ruling the waves and applaud the anti-Brexit gag at the same time. It's artificial and fun; a vague ambiance of jokes about boozy seamen and cabin boys called Roger without caring in the slightest about history or authenticity. When we buy a ticket for a Fishermen's Friends concert, we aren't just buying the chance to roar along to What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor and Bound For South Australia and John Kanackrnaker Too Li Ay. (Too Li Ay, Too Li Ay, John Kanackernackernacker too li ay!) We're buying the myth of Fishermen's Friends. We're kind of playing at being in the movie. And so are they. And why not?
(All folk music is artificial and performative. Discuss.)
They are at their best when doing close-harmony roaring. I have heard better shanty bands; I have heard better shanty bands performing on that exact same stage. But I have certainly never heard any louder ones. Jeremy Brown has a voice that would take him anywhere he wanted to go; John Cleave isn't so loud or so deafening but carries the show through force of personality. The others are probably no better than a lot of guys you could hear on any club-night, but they've been doing this night after night for twenty five years, and effortlessly meld with each other. You see them exchanging smiles and words with each other as if they've almost forgotten the audience is there. Since the Very Bad Thing happened they've been joined by the considerably younger Toby Lobb, who is altogether softer and more lyrical than the others and can bring actual subtlety to the slow songs like Leave Her Johnny Leave Her.
There are a few moments when they step away from the standard shanty band repertoire; indeed if I had to pick one single favorite song of the night it might have been the atypical Blind Willie Johnson's bluesy gospel God Moved On The Water. Although even that is about a fairly famous shipwreck.
They wind up with the Bonnie Ship the Diamond; and come straight back on and do Show of Hands Cousin Jack with some aplomb. This has the usual effect of making your diarist blubber in the corner. And then they do Little-Eye I Love you. And then we keep clapping, so they do What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor, which is obviously the end. Except when we have finished clapping they do South Australia as well.
I'm pretty sure they do those exact same encores every night. It's all performance, all staged, very largely fictional. But like the fellow said: if the fact becomes a legend, print the legend. I absolutely loved it.
No comments:
Post a Comment