More barn than bar, the unpretentious Back Room Club at The Hope Pole in Aylesbury was perhaps the perfect venue to host the first gig of Woody Pines' visit to the UK.
This happy-go-lucky four piece transported the audience to their native North Carolina with a collection of traditional American songs cataloguing murder, poverty, infidelity, excess and general depravity perpetrated or suffered by such characters as Cocaine Bill, Morphine Sue, Rich Gal and Poor Gal, and even - joy of joys - a Crazy-Eyed Woman.
Despite the obligatory presence of a 57 Chevy, this ramshackle crew naturally favours stolen cars and freight trains for their fugitive journeys. Ghosts of Dr John and Professor Longhair nod approvingly as the band take us on a musical tour of the south with their songs of tobacco, love, lucky escapes and terrible conclusions.
This is the musical landscape that inspired a young Robert Zimmerman half century ago.

"Earthy" and especially "rootsy" are adjectives that your reviewer finds himself reaching for repeatedly when describing the repertoire, ranging as it does from rootsy ragtime thru cajun two step, blues and old time. Even their newly penned tunes are apparently constructed from reclaimed materials.
This is no pastiche however, but raw wood 'n' wires music, - with no plastic parts - born of a deep affection for a musical tradition from a time before amplifiers.

Still jetlagged from their flight, the band did not stint on dispensing their musical moonshine; the eponymous Woody with his pork pie hat, plays clawhammer style on his national guitar, and while his vocals are at times redolent of the bard of Duluth, he frankly makes a better job than Dylan of soloing on neck-brace harmonica. Darin Gentry on fiddle (I'm really a banjo player) gently and politely swoops and chugs beautifully fluid and natural lines. While also contributing vocal harmonies, Nathan Taylor presides over a tiny kit of traps which could have been assembled in any farmyard. Zack Pozebanchuk presented an almost academic masterclass on standup bass in mid 20th century American music.

And the rootsy repertoire? "Chew Tobacco Rag" (how many songs manage to include a word as magnificent as "cuspidor"?) extols the virtues of the local product and expelling its juices. "Counting Alligators", which gives its title to the album available at gigs - celebrates an anticipated visit to New Orleans. "Satisfied" a simple and touching love song. The footstomping "99 years" defies the most recalcitrant audience not to join in - and so the evening goes.

Earthy, rootsy and fun fun fun - in dungarees!
Catch 'em while they're here - you'll come away with hay in your hair, a sun tan and the tang of moonshine in your brain.

Attitude is a crucial to a good performance, but how do you get it?

What if you just want to get up and sing a song but you can't prove that you or a close relative have suffered injustice / discrimination / chance repossession of a girlfriend by the friend you stole her from in the first place?

I am slightly jealous that so many Nashville citizens are struggling to come to terms with the death of a pet, the unreasonable departure of a spouse, or even the persistent presence of a spouse who treats them so bad.

Of course you could always try inflicting something on yourself - turn to drink, have an affair with a girl from Texas or develop an unhealthy interest in voodoo, but that might boost your credibility at the expense of your ability to perform.

Spare a thought then, for those rebels not yet inspired by a cause, niggaz deficient in attitude, and those unfortunate enough not to have been born under a bad sign or to have been seduced by a "black magic / devil woman".

I for example, long to play Appalachian mountain music but was born, darn it, not in a cross-fire hurricane nor raised, tragically, by a toothless bearded hag - but in Mill Road maternity hospital to genetically distinct parents.

But that's my problem...

I went to one of those retro gigs last night, where bands from the 70's are brought out of the attic to garner the last few grey pounds from an increasingly decrepit fan base. Having travelled to Aylesbury Civic Centre with frankly not the highest of expectations, I am delighted to report that it was all very much better than you might have thought. This was an interesting and value-for-money line-up of four bands picked from the filing cabinet marked "70's progressive".

Strawbs, who once counted Rick Wakeman among their number, now field an acoustic trio of founder members, while Wishbone Ash - Martin Turner's Wishbone Ash, if y' don't mind - only retain the eponymous bassist from the band that I saw in Cambridge Corn Exchange when gaslights still guttered in Red Lion Street. Not that it mattered, everyone tonight was out for a good time enjoying memories and material which still deserves its live outing.
Curved Air - the name nicked from a Terry Riley composition - always wore their arty credentials on their heavily embroidered sleeves. Of the 1970 line-up, only Sonja Kristina and drummer Florian Pilkington-Miksa (no really!) made it to Aylesbury 2009. Of the Focus that I saw at Reading festival just after the dissolution of the monastries, Thijs van Leer and Pierre van der Linden reappear triumphant having recruited new blood to the cause.

Strawbs kicked off the soiree with a good ensemble sound, well arranged, with bassist Chas Cronk playing in a few string lines from a pedal board. Dave Cousins vocals were loose and louche to say the least - bordering on the John Martin at times, but Dave Lambert has a good voice too, and the three part harmonies brought the songs to life. I was surprised how many I remembered, and it does the band credit that we were spared the ghastly "Part of the Union" which I feared might appear as a final sing-along crowd pleaser.

Wishbone Ash followed, with Ray Hatfield on guitar, who played sublimely. Strat with a mesa boogie - lovely tone and fluidity. Not that the other guitarist Keith Buck was any slouch either, just unfortunate to be standing next to Ray last night! Martin Turner's singing is not the most inspiring, but they gave the harmonies a fair go, and the good guitar tunes kept coming. Drummer Ray Weston drove the performance cleanly and crisply despite the kit not coming very well across the PA at first. I think it was he who was introduced as "on skins..." - Oh, it takes you back...

Curved Air were missing Darryl Way, but the keyboard player, whose details I can't find on the web, was exceptional, playing in the requisite wurlitzer and harpsichord parts, but also some vintage Oddyssey flavoured synth, and some great White Noise style soundscaping in the obligatory "Vivaldi", provided here by a hastily-recruited fiddler - once again uncredited on the website. Sonja is a fine rock singer, but the whole thing is not especially to my taste, and some of the arrangements, especially the endings, were a bit odd.

But not as odd it must be said, as Focus. Built around the frankly whacky persona of Thijs van Leer - who with his mutton-chop sideburns and seven league boots looked for all the world like a 19th century cornish fisherman - the result was a musical Heath-Robinson curiosity. With his incredibly rich voice, Thijs sings along to solos and yodels, scats and occasionally actually sings what you think might become a song, but turns out just to be a little island of vocal in the middle of arrangements that Frank Zappa would have enjoyed, twisting restlessly from key to key, tempo to tempo. Van Leer picks up the flute to "sing-play" a la Ian Anderson, or plays flute with one hand while continuing to play the organ with the other, even at one stage improvising on a plastic beer glass left on the front of the stage. He is clearly unstoppable.
Not that the musicianship could be faulted. Pierre van der Linden played his trademark busy, jazzy style with aplomb, and then at the end of the set turned in a 6 minute solo with redoubled vigour!
While Bobby Jacobs played bass that would have turned heads in another setting, man of the match for me went to guitarist Niels van der Steenhoven, who did much more than replace the fine Jan Akkerman. Matching Van Leer note for note on solos, flying comfortably through the key changes when soloing in a number of styles, and with a three dimensional tone to die for, he may also have been the youngest person in the building. I went home to my horlicks a happy man.