One of them review thingies that I do from time to time...



If Seth Lakeman ever wanted to start his own religion, I suggest that during Kitty Jay would be the time to do it.

He’s completely mesmerising most of the time, but there is a black hole-like intensity about him during that song that draws you in, wraps itself around your cerebral cortex and when the music stops and breaks the spell, spontaneous rapture breaks out on an unprecedented scale. Any budding Pied Pipers out there would be wise to learn a thing or two from Lakeman about trance-inducing music.

Last night saw us at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, and after the severe ear-bollocking we got from DD the last time we went to see Seth and didn’t take her along, DD was with us too – yes, on a school night. Apologies then, to Mrs Mostowfi, for sending this particular Year 7 to school in such a severely sleep-deprived state this morning. It was, however, in a good cause. You can never have too much exposure to good music.

We were there for doors opening at 7pm which meant we got great seats on one of the side balconies. In the queue we were stood behind two girls who had clearly met Seth in some local establishment. I recognised the stunned ‘I can’t believe he came in… I can’t believe we met him…I can’t believe I said something to him…’ breathless, slightly frantic conversation of lucky fans who have met the band and whose brains are still trying to compute. Of course, you’d never catch me doing that sort of thing…hehe ;-) ;-)

The SBE looked to me like a giant pub, with – and take note please Robin 2 in Bilston – they sell beer and they had a nice shiny wooden floor… not some giant piece of flypaper that your shoes get stuck to.

The support act was Baskery – a group of three sisters from Sweden. They were fantastic and definitely worth turning up early to see. Can’t really quantify what they sounded like – Dixie Chicks with PMS possibly, but themselves obviously. But perhaps a hearing of their first single might help you decide, (below). Anyway, however they can be described they were a great support band and worth the ticket price in their own right. They played for about half an hour.




DD picked the wrong moment to decide to go to the loo (again), so she missed Seth’s entrance. We however didn’t. I was amused to find that both Seth and his bass player seemed to be wearing exactly the same clothes as they had been two years ago. Seth still looks like he came fresh from Dartmoor – this is known in womankind as ‘no bad thing’. He was supported by Ben on double bass and banjo, brother Sean on guitar and mandoliny-things (clearly I am music professor lol!), and alas, I forget who on drums – must pay attention in future. Kudos to Sean, who I must say, coped admirably with a technical nightmare towards the end. No, we didn’t notice ;-)

The set list contained most of his latest album Poor Man’s Heaven, which has a rounder more ‘produced’ feel to it than his previous three. There was a nice selection from The Punch Bowl, Kitty Jay and Freedom Fields, including to DD’s complete delight The Colliers, which she was desperate for him to do. It’s about Cornish miners, not the everyday saga of my family, before you ask. He also played Solomon Browne his current single which is about the Penlee lifeboat disaster of December 1981, all profits of which go towards the RNLI, who were also taking a collection in the foyer.

The audience was a great cross-section of people, from the slightly predictable hippie chicks wearing the contents of the local new age shop, the massed ranks of fleece wearers, the odd checked shirt and straight through to the suited and booted hot foot from the office. Mercifully there wasn’t a waist length beard or a leather padded elbow in sight – so obviously all the Geography lecturers were at home, marking assignments. Well, all apart from the one sat next to me who had snuck in, incognito.

I'll Haunt You - actually filmed at the SBE.




Seth alternates between playing the violin and tenor guitar. 'Playing' isn’t really the right word and may conjour up the idea that this is some genteel experience… er, no. This is not to be confused with the cut glass refinement of an orchestra. Lakeman’s violin playing is… well, hewn from Cornish granite. Imagine Jimmy Page with a bow… and you’re in the right ball park.  

Kitty Jay... if you suddenly find yourself a paid up member of the Church of the Black T Shirt - don't blame me. Shedding bow action much in evidence..



He stomps around the stage for close to an hour and a half, saying little – as blocks of Dartmoor Granite are apt to do; but we do not mind, we’re here for the music.* It takes a while for the crowd to release its inner Cornishman and some, for fear of twirling about too much and pitching headfirst over the barely thigh-high balustrade never do (ie me!), but I can clap my hands and stop my feet with the best of them, so that I did.

As is the way with these things they get you in an over-excited tizzy and then they leave the stage. Thankfully they come back on and close with Race to be King which has to be experienced live as the album version doesn’t quite do it justice. And then it’s over. DD is booking a wedding date, I’m deaf and Simon didn’t think it was quite loud enough. Huh?

We amble out from the last Cornish outpost in London, off into bright twinkly lights of the Shepherd’s Bush night very happy people. Hopefully it won't be another two years before I catch up with Mr Lakeman and his Church of the black T shirts again.  




*girlies in the front row clearly not…