Gaz Brookfield

Chapel Arts Bath


Chapel Arts was laid out "cabaret" style. One or two punters said it felt odd to listen to Gaz Brookfield sitting down. I must say I prefer seated venues; he isn't a performer you want to dance to; he's one where you want to listen to the lyrics. And sing along, of course. He is such a local cult-figure that two thirds of any audience know all the words already.

Last time I heard Gaz -- his annual Christmas jamboree in a Bristol night club -- I gave up trying to write a review and just quoted a page of my favorite lyrics. I was tempted to do the same tonight. Or just say "Don't read this; go and look up a couple of his videos on YouTube." (He has, sadly, dropped off spotify.) The Christmas gig was with a full-on band; but tonight it was just him and his rather beaten up looking guitar. I prefer him like that. A voice, an instrument, and some words. It fits with the very personal nature of his music. 

How do I describe him to someone who hasn't heard him before? He's a singer songwriter. At one time he was a Christian; at another time he was a punk; now he sings a lot about not knowing and not believing. ("And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who feels this way/Forever in he dark, yet blinded by the day") Terms like "folk punk" and "new folk" hover around him: his latest album is called Lost Folk. He swears continuously without remotely giving offence. (The support act fails to introduce himself. A member of the audience eventually calls out "What is your name." It's Chris Webb and he is pretty good. Gaz takes to the stage and speaks over a quick guitar improve. "Hi. My names Gaz. That's how you fucking do it!") 

He sings mostly about his own life. About waiting for an hour and a half at Temple Meads. ("Waiting for a train that's waiting till the flood recedes.") About being diagnosed with a serious medical condition ("You'll have to cut down on the sweeties, you've got type two diabetes"). About his belated honeymoon, cycling through India. ("I didn't come to find myself, I came here to get lost.") And about his struggle with depression an anxiety. "I've lost five friends to depression. Their depression, not mine... No, it's okay, you can laugh. That's how I deal with it, too." He talks movingly about how he's avoided talking about it directly, but that now he has an audience he feels he should try to break some of the taboos around men asking for help. And he sings about whatever catches his eye. About people who talk thought concerts. ("Have some respect for those around you and try not to be a dick".) About self-important pop-singers. ("So climb down off that soapbox it's slippery / Your horse has always been much too high."") And of course, about love and relationships. ("And you put up with / a lot from me and some might say you're stuck with / This alcoholic idiot fuck-wit.") He says at one point that the closest thing he has to a political messages is that you can vote however you want provided your aren't nasty to the people who voted the other way. 

The songs are full of driving, rocky rhythms; he whacks the guitar like it's going out of fashion. He apologize for projecting sweat over the people in the front two rows. He plays his "last" song and points out (as every act at Chapel Arts does) that there is no backstage for him to retreat to. So he goes straight into a "rehearsed" encore, his signature song, Diabetes Blues. It's funny, in a way, a very personal song, born I am sure out of despair, ("You're still fairly ill / but it's injections now, not pills") which has the whole audience punching the air and singing along to the chorus. And then he sings his other signature song, the song that made me fall in love with his act at Glastonbury 2010, when the arrival of Michael Eavis cut his set short. "This songs all about bullying..." I know I make rather a thing of folk music emotionally connecting with me; of songs like Hollow Point (Chris Wood) and Cousin Jack (Steve Knightley) making me cry.  But I've heard Gaz sing "Be the Bigger Man" maybe 20 times and it still destroys me. The same line, every time. (Have a listen. You'll know it when it comes.) There's a young lad in the audience, at his first gig according to Facebook, who plays the song every morning before going to school. Gaz dedicates the song to him by name. 

The word "man" comes up a lot in Gaz's songs. Be the bigger man; I set out a boy but I came home a man; it's the war wounds tell the story of the man; where does a godless man go when he prays... 

Some nights he leaps in the air at the end of the song and leaves the stage; but today he seemed to sink onto his knees, signalling to the venue manager "one more?" So he comes down off the stage and plays his other other signature song "unplugged". He says he can't sing it at every concert, but only when he's in the right part of the world. "I've been to New York city from the statue to the park/ and I've visited all the sites - well all the sites near all the bars / but as beautiful as NYC can look this time of year there's this Chapel down in Bath where I'd rather sink a beer." He provides a commentary as he goes along, apologizing for deafening people and knocking them with the side of his guitar. He makes the audience do a round of the chorus unaccompanied. "And there's no place I go/where I feel as at home/so you will always know I will return." 

"Standing ovation" sounds too big and formal; but everyone stands up and claps. Gaz saunters to the back of the room to sell his own CDs. 

Everyone refers to him as Gaz. "Are you a fan of Gaz?" "Is this the first time you've heard Gaz?" "Which is your favourite Gaz song." Gaz is never less than stellar, but tonight was something really special. I am sure everyone in the audience went home feeling that he was their new best friend.