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Ron Sexsmith - Union Chapel, Islington on 6 December 2001

Ron’s show at the Union Chapel in London last night was, unsurprisingly, wonderful, and much more lively than expected.

It only occurred to me just before Ron took to the stage in front of the glorious 2 square-metre stone pulpit (rather than performing from up there, which would have been intriguing and perhaps make us want to kneel more often) that I had not seen him perform with anyone before, so it would be a completely new experience to hear him with a band.

Perhaps in order to break me in gently, when Ron took the stage slightly late at 9.25pm, he was on his own. In his usual dark grey lapel-less suit with a high collar, over a patterned burgundy shirt, that great gentle cherub face and the tousled hair,—which was more obedient than usual--his gorgeous voice rang out clearly up to the vaulted ceilings in the murky gothic Victorian chapel. He treated us to a song from his forthcoming album that must be called Former Glory, a lovely track with a sense of sadness and regret that will help make the album worth the wait for its release.

When he finished, while we applauded, the band came on. I know that drummer Don Kerr has worked with Ron for ages, but I’d never seen him before, and all I could think of was how much he looked like the kid in Third Rock from the Sun back in the days when he desperately needed a haircut. Don wore his hair exactly like that, and, although I understand he gives the impression of being a bit wild and mad, he just came across as a multi-talented musician with a remarkable sense of calm.

Meanwhile, Tim Bovaconti, of the Supers and also the Lost Dakotas, looked to me like David Keith, best known for playing Richard Gere’s tragic friend in An Officer and A Gentleman, wearing a Panama hat, with long sideboards from another era. It was clear right away that he was going to be good fun.

Finally, Ron introduced the new bass player, Peter Murray, another Canadian, a freelance bassist, writer and apparent singer/songwriter. When Peter had been on the stage during the interval playing roadie with others, his back was to the audience and I overheard some people wonder aloud if it were Ron. Peter has that same mad mass of curls where it seems that each individual hair is reaching out for another head. His face was a marriage of a rougher Hugh Grant and Alan Ruck, the long-faced actor from Spin City and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. He clearly met Ron at the Club for Baby-Faced Cherubs with Wild Hair, and they decided to perform together.

So with Ron fronting these wonderful characters before a striking 130-year-old pulpit in an airy working chapel, the band treated us to a gorgeous and gentle performance of Thinking Out Loud. Ron’s voice was quiet and sweet and the powerful bass seemed to make the entire church vibrate with each note. This number was swiftly followed by a marvellous performance of Cheap Hotel.

Ron then introduced Tim and Don, as the latter jump-started a bold and catchy This Song. Somewhere in the middle of it, the band stopped playing for fleeting moments that left Ron singing a cappella, when he cupped his right hand over his ear to ensure that he could hear himself reach the high notes and do so perfectly, which he of course did. He was in excellent voice all night.

After exposing his concerns about the dangers of spontaneously combusting—I presume because he was feeling warm rather than because he was a sinner in the house of God—whilst those seated around him in the octagonal auditorium who did not have to work felt freezing cold, he introduced Summer Blowin’ Town as a song they had not performed in a while. I cannot think that any strong stone and brick church, except perhaps a Baptist one with an enthusiastic hand-clapping choir, had ever had a floor vibrate as it did during this fine song.

Ron and Tim then changed to other guitars, with Ron going electric, as he explained that he had been receiving requests via e-mail for songs to play, which he supposed was the modern way to make requests. So he announced that he was about to perform Right About Now for Chris on his birthday, and then added that he sure hoped this was the right gig where he was meant to say that. Whilst enjoying the wonderful jazzy feel of the performance, I observed that, since the chapel just had a temporary small stage erected, it also only had a few lights, each a different colour, lining each side of the stage. The lights would get excited during the more upbeat numbers and sometimes even flash once or twice, but mainly during the early part of the concert, the red and blue lights behind his head just stared back out at the audience in an apparent attempt to blind us. So Ron was often just a fuzzy, glaring blur of purple singing words that were sometimes difficult to distinguish as they fought over the noisier music that was bouncing around those glorious old walls.

Introducing the next song, Ron said it was the one he had performed on Later…With Jools Holland earlier this year. Lots of people had e-mailed him afterwards to say that he’d looked really pissed off, he said, but he was just concentrating! So, this time with no malice or irritation evident on his face, he sang a wonderfully catchy Just My Heart Talkin’, his voice clear and perfect. At one point, Tim seemed to recognise his David Keith link and, like a movie star, wandered across the cramped stage to Ron, bending and facing him, trying for a bit of Spinal Tap-style bonding whilst playing the instrumental parts, but Ron was then concentrating (NB NOT pissed off) on playing, and only looked up and nodded back at Tim once he had returned to his designated space, stage right.

Ron then switched to the electric piano and muttered about having watched far too many Queen videos lately and how they had influenced the band that night. I must admit that, if anything, there had been a distinct lack of Queen comparisons leaping into my head by then, but I like the man so I’ll respect what he says. Seated at the piano, Ron noticed for the first time that there was an upper level where more fans were seated, so he greeted them. He said it was great to see all of us—at least 800 people—as he and the band had not been sure whether anyone would turn up. He said that it was always best not to expect too much, and in fact, we should not expect too much from his piano playing. He then played beautifully, of course, as incredibly heavy bass and the others joined in for a lovely mellow version of what, surprisingly, could have been a cover of a George Benson or Al Green song (not that I’m too familiar with George Benson, but that’s what came to mind). It had a very jazzy-funk feel, but it was Ron’s Foolproof. As Ron’s voice rang out and floated steadily once again to the gloomy heights of the chapel, I noticed that, high above and behind him was a darkened rose window the size of the stage, which would probably be lovely if it had been illuminated, and even that could not have distracted anyone from the brilliance beneath it on stage. The song went down extremely well with the audience who truly came to life whilst applauding afterwards (it takes London audiences a long time to get the courage to be so bold as to cheer, never mind tap our feet to the beat!).

Still at the piano, Ron led the band into Leonard Cohen’s Heart With No Companion. But rather than the almost country treatment it gets on the album, Tim’s guitar added a reggae flair that, oddly, worked rather well and certainly kept things interesting. Tim then let loose at the end with his first opportunity for a major guitar solo that was slightly more western than Tap. What a fabulously remarkable occasion, to hear Leonard Cohen performed by Ron Sexsmith with a reggae beat and some country tones. So many styles, all in one blender. Who would have imagined it would be the success that it was? And 50 points are awarded for amazing creativity.

After wandering off on so many foreign styles, Ron reminded us of his roots by clearly speaking Canadian for the first time that evening: ‘That wasn’t too bad, eh?’ Since I moved to England, I have often been asked by the British for advice on how to distinguish a Canadian accent from an American one (like my own). My father used to live in Toronto, then Montreal, and though I was a child when I spent there, I mastered the relevant linguistics by noticing that many of the Canadians seemed to finish their sentences with ‘eh?’ a lot. So now that I’ve heard Ron say it, I’m certain he’s not an impostor (and I hope I’m not insulting any Canadians! I was but seven when noting that point so I’m allowed a bit of ignorance!)

Meanwhile, back at the Union Chapel, the proven Canadian slowed things down by moving back to acoustic guitar, whilst Tim changed guitars as well. To fill the silence whilst they took a bit of time doing it, Ron quipped, ‘I hope that all of this rapid instrument changing doesn’t make anyone sick,’ and the now adoring audience laughed heartily. During the following terrific performance of Tell Me Again, I noticed Tim studying Ron’s guitar-playing as Tim played his own guitar quietly during a gentle guitar sequence near the end, but let me state clearly that he was concentrating, and not pissed off. What caught my eye the most was the astonishing site of Don Kerr playing the traditional Celtic Bodhrán (pronounced BOW-rawn) whilst working the hi-hat cymbals with his foot! I am pretty certain that the Bodhrán and the hi-hat have never before been played in unison; it would take an intriguing style of music to call for such an inventive mix: Ron style, obviously. It worked; it was intriguing.

With Ron still on acoustic guitar (but Don no longer playing Irish jig-jazz), they thrilled the audience with one of Ron’s most appreciated songs, which apparently took him two years to write—and it was worth it!—Strawberry Blonde. A lovely, potent song that avoids syrupy sentimentality or spitting out words that shock and jar the listener like the Boomtown Rats’ I Don’t Like Mondays. It is just enough, and brilliant, and the audience’s reaction clarified that they had been truly wowed.

After Ron acknowledged that they’d been neglecting the third album, Don led them with a major drum introduction into Must Have Heard it Wrong, and Don joined in on backing vocals. Before now, the backing vocals had mainly been provided by Tim, with Pete and Don joining in on occasion. They all clearly had a talent for singing as well as playing several instruments (if I were the envious sort, I would hate them passionately). The performance of this song was absolutely remarkable, and really brought the ‘congregation’ to life. Not that we jumped up and danced or anything—we are Londoners, don’t forget, and we were seated in pews, so one cannot expect too much. But by then we were all boogie-ing in our heads. Ron inserted a false ending, when he stopped and everyone began applauding earnestly, and then he began to play another line or so. Bless him, he apologised afterwards for that ‘trick ending.’

The next song was fabulous, and so welcome. Ron had apparently been inserting a few lines of Here Comes the Sun into his performances of the great Feel For You as a sort of prayer for its composer George Harrison whilst he was ill, but now Ron moved into flat-out tribute mode by playing a George Harrison song in its entirety. But rather than the more obvious choices that everyone seems to be playing now—Here Comes the Sun, Something, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, My Sweet Lord, etc—he took us back to the height of Beatlemania with the brilliantly delightful song I Need You from Help! Tim, who looks like he’d fit in well in the 50s or early 60s rockabilly age anyway with those sideboards and the velvet-trimmed lapels, switched to a guitar that must be from that era and played the prominent guitar riffs throughout, adding with the others the appropriate ‘ooooohs’ and ‘la-las’ whilst Ron’s gentle voice melted into the song perfectly. Apart from injecting a lot of life into the tired crowd after what for many of us would have been a hard working day, Ron gets 100 points for the rejuvenation of a much neglected, wonderful song. As a major cloud of applause filled the chapel at the end, Ron called out ‘God bless George Harrison!’ And in such an appropriate setting, too.

Ron then got us all laughing again, introducing the next number by saying that, like all great Canadian drummers, Don was now going to play the cello. Don did so in darkness, at the back of the stage, as the chapel isn’t exactly equipped with staff in the rafters aiming spotlights. But he sounded great, the sound of the cello so fortified and significant that one almost didn’t notice the lack of instruments other than Ron’s acoustic guitar, as the other two had left the stage. Absolutely everyone was transfixed by this stunning, clear performance of Speaking With the Angel, and if only someone’s beer cup hadn’t dropped to the hard floor during one of the more peaceful moments (well, those shelves on the back of the pews are clearly better designed for balancing hymnbooks), there probably would have been silence at the end as we were all almost struck dumb by the beauty of the song. Fortunately, our hands still functioned and everyone applauded with mad enthusiasm.

When we had calmed, Ron said that he was working on a brand new album here (hoorah!), and the first song he had played (Former Glory) was from that album, and he would now play another track from it. He instructed us to let him know whether he should keep the song on the album. On his own, he played a beautiful, sweet and gentle song that was not too slow but profound and lovely enough for you to expect it to be, fighting off the surrounding murky gloom of the chapel that threatened to dwarf him. I would imagine it was called For A Moment There, and needless to say, we all indicated clearly that we thought it should stay on the album! Let’s just hope that album is ready soon; he implied that it had reached the mixing stage. Still, we have Blue Boy to keep us company for a while….(If only we also had a live album, complete with Ron’s chatting charm between songs, to remind us of such lovely evenings as this and his general affable manner that cannot be conveyed on an album. Some one was milling about, videotaping parts of the concert, which was curious because I imagine if he were just Joe Audience Member, he would have been stopped. Hope we get to see the concert again one day….)

Ron said that it was time for another e-mail request, and this was a song that he ‘wrote on the swings,’ which left me briefly pondering whether that was some sort of musician talk for ‘the bends’ or ‘the wagon’ or ‘a bad trip’, until the image of an innocent visit to a playground pushed into my mind, which suited Ron much better. Still on his own on stage, providing some amazing guitar-picking, Ron played So Young, which was lovely.

Next, still on his own, Ron moved to the piano, and as he stripped his jacked off, he advised that that was another thing that Freddie Mercury had taught him. He explained that, in the Queen video that they had recently viewed, Freddie strips off an item of clothing at the end of each song until eventually he is wearing only a pair of white shorts and a moustache. I wondered if Ron was planning to go that far, too, but felt somewhat relieved when he stopped at the jacket removal. He proceeded to play a lovely, sweet, heart-rendering version of Wastin’ Time that really accentuated what a robustly romantic song it is. It was more touching than conveyed on the album, and it made me think that only a truly decent and caring man could write a song like that. Whilst the decent and caring man was performing it, I noticed that the high side windows on the lower level of the chapel were slightly lit and contained abbreviated messages in the middle that somehow seemed to support the theory—phrases such as ‘Little children’ and ‘God light,’ with the latter being the most brightly lit as that window led into the bar next door. The bar, by the way, received a constant stream of visitors during the performance, perhaps because they were allowed to bring the beer back into the auditorium and people here do drink a lot, but it must have been distracting for the players.

After the big cheers (yes, we were even cheering now!) died down for Wastin’ Time, Ron spoke of the lovely venue and mentioned that donations would be willingly collected on our way out for the restoration project for the chapel, and he encouraged us to make contributions. Some one’s horrid mobile went off at that stage (shame on that person!), but fortunately that person managed to silence it just as Ron started gently tapping away at the piano and singing softly Riverbed. Appearing like magic on the dimly lit stage, the three band members stood in a semi-circle around a spare mike in the shadows near Ron’s piano and added a few ‘ooooooo’s’ and some impressive harmonies, which reminded me a bit of the traditional song Shenandoah at times (bizarrely). At one point, I thought I heard a slightly off note on the piano, but the moment passed and I figured I’d imagined it. But at the end, Ron, being Ron, apologised for that bum note on the piano! He then praised the lovely singing of the ‘Ron-ettes,’ as they took their places by their instruments again, with Ron returning to acoustic guitar.

Thirsty Love with a bit of a western feel was next, with Tim playing that traditional western instrument the, uh, mandolin, or I think that’s what it was; I could not hear it very well, but when I did, Tim’s quick playing was impressive. Somehow, I could almost hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and was expecting the whispered wail of tumblin’ tumbleweeds soon, which was fairly fun, but I have to say I was thankful that I was spared any slide guitar (yuck). The Ron-ettes provided more harmonies and managed to sound like 20 people rather than three, but I have to admit that there was so much harmonising and oooooh-ing that it started to distract me a bit for the rest of the night, and the harmonies were not always my cup of tea. But I am certain that is a genetic defect with me as I cannot really fault the band. I must say that they all Ronetted quite professionally and never missed a note. The song was very well received by the audience--shows what little I know!

Ron then referred to Grand Opera Lane, the independent album he released in 1991, and the crowd cheered so much that Ron paused to say, ‘yeah, hooray for Ron!’ For the first time, people shouted requests (in the old-fashioned non-electronic way), but he said they had something else planned and launched into the terribly catchy Tell You. I enjoy this song considerably, but the performance was full of more strong backing vocals, and Tim was playing a grinding electric guitar and even had a bit of a solo. I am and always have been an old fogie and never appreciated noisy electric guitar, particularly fuzz guitar and whining, long solos, so I declare my bias up front and confess to being overly-sensitive. However, it did seem a bit strong for the song. Still, the number was great, and after hearing it only once, I found myself humming it later in the night, which is highly unusual as I have the memory of a goldfish.

We could tell the next number was a big one because a light show was employed!! The four lights on each side of the stage began to flash in some sort of sequence—a bit painful on our eyes, but pulling out all the stops for the light show did, I suppose, liven the atmosphere a bit, although Ron & the Ronettes had already made us forget the cold and somewhat appealing dark gloom of the chapel by sparking it to life. Don pounded away at the drums, Ron joined Tim on electric guitar, and the music was almost scarily powerful during the exceptional Clown In Broad Daylight. This tune, for some reason, I have only recently come to appreciate fully as a truly fabulous arrangement on the album—full of brass and exciting foot-tapping stuff! We had no trumpets at the chapel, but the band made up for it, and even gave Ron a few fleeting and fabulous a cappella moments.

After thanking the marvellous Juliet Turner for opening the evening for him, Ron played electric guitar on his own for the first verse of the utterly magnificent Secret Heart, before the others joined in. This song and this performance of it can best be described by the word that I’m certain was in everyone’s mind upon its completion: WOW. As huge applause broke out in the chapel, the band left the stage.

It was 10.50pm, and most such venues in London—particularly as this one was smack in the middle of a terrace of (huge and gorgeous) houses—are only licensed for entertainment until 11pm. Ron was supposed to have finished by now anyway, and he left the stage, but of course the audience was not going to let him leave it there. I suppose we sound a bit greedy. He had already played for an hour and a half and performed a whopping 23 songs! What more could we want? Well…..more!

And Ron and the band gave us more, sweethearts that they are. They returned two minutes later, with Ron back on acoustic guitar and Don amazing me again by shaking a maraca with one hand whilst drumming with the other. I’ll bet he can even walk and rub his tummy at the same time! Ron’s hair returned to character a bit, endearingly tousled, as it looked as though he had run his fingers through it in a fatigued gesture backstage, and no one bothered to tell him that a few rebel hairs had decided to stand to attention for the rest of the evening, but he still looked lovely and more organised than I ever manage to be. They played the hauntingly soothing sound of Seem To Recall, a marvellous song, although I’m afraid that the ‘ooooooooo’s’ of the Ronettes started to sound dreary to me, but that’s just because I’m a mutant, don’t forget. The whole performance could not have been smoother.

That smoothness was followed by the heavy, beating rock sound of Keep It In Mind, with another dazzling low-budget light show. The song was catchy, upbeat, very busy music, and it sounded fabulous, even with the almost by now grating ‘oooooooooooooooh’s.’ At 11.03pm, long after I swore to my friends I would have to abandon the brilliant concert in order to ensure that I caught the last train home, the band left the stage, but I still couldn’t move. It seems sleeping on a cold and scary park bench sounded like a worthy sacrifice for hearing more of Ron.

Fortunately, perhaps sensing the smell of fear emitted by me and all the other commuters, Ron came back on right away and picked up his acoustic guitar. Peter puzzled me by walking over to the side edge of the stage where he remained facing the soundboard. Eventually, I found out why, as he joined in on the xylophone, which had been placed there. I guess all great Canadian bass guitarists also play the xylophone. One could barely pick out Don in the murky darkness beside the pulpit at the back of the stage, creating amazing sounds on the cello, and Tim was gently plucking away at the electric guitar.

This closing was tailor-made for me, and I am so glad I did not run off for the train (even though it meant I had to employ the skills of an Olympic runner and then didn’t get home ‘til just after 1am, completely frozen—but it was worth it). I have turned many people onto Ron’s music, some of whom started merely by enquiring as to the profound quote that appears at the end of all of my e-mails. It is from April After All. Also, after 11 September, I made a ‘comfort minidisk’ full of comforting songs, which I have listened to every day on the train to work and home again since, and still haven’t tired of it! Ron’s April After All is one of the songs on that minidisk. And now Ron and his band were playing April After All, hauntingly beautiful and also soothing and kind. It was absolutely brilliant. Everyone was captivated, and it took us all a few minutes to realise that that really was the end of the show.

The show was magnificent, and I was impressed by how professional and well-rehearsed the talented band were. Even if the gooey backing ‘ooooooohs’ grated a bit, only because I became too focused on them and then they were everywhere, everything really was lovely. Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed the contribution by the other band members, it was a tough adjustment after seeing Ron on his own always before. As I left the show, I told my friends that I would never have expected to have my ears ringing and have that half-deaf feeling after a Ron Sexsmith show, of all things. I’m not a big fan of the electric guitar, I’ve confessed, but the show was full of life and humour and I really thoroughly enjoyed it. They were a polished band that put no foot wrong and added a lot of fun into the proceedings. I appreciated the mix that included Ron solo numbers as well as softer songs with the cello. My friends, who were almost Ron-virgins, did offer the sole complaint that it was frequently difficult to make out what Ron was singing over the noise of the guitar, heavy bass and percussion, which I mentioned before. I think that is a dreadful shame, when dealing with such an astonishingly talented songwriter, but they both admitted to enjoying the show, as well.

I’m basically just so thrilled that Ron played an accessible venue with an early enough finish for commuters and old fogies like me to be able to attend, and he did so many of my favourite songs (there are many others I wish I’d had the nerve to shout out, but then that was hardly done in the solemn atmosphere of the chapel. I should have thought to e-mail first!)

On a final note, I’d like to say that, whilst I didn’t meet any Ron-list members there, I did encounter a testament to the goodness of Ron fans. After planning for ages to finally get my hands on Grand Opera Lane at this gig, my rush to the venue left me unable to stop at a cash machine as planned, and I did not have any money and the guy selling the CDs would not take cheques (understandable if he’s going back to Canada). I oozed disappointment so much when I returned to my pew that the total stranger seated on the other side of my friend offered to lend me the £15 necessary, saying that I could post it back to him.

In America, I would think nothing of a stranger approaching me on the street and complementing my suit or something. Here in England, we are much more reserved. We will sit beside the same people on the train every day for 40 years and never even smile hello at them. Even if we are on our way to the station in the morning and find all the familiar faces of our fellow commuters coming out and going the other way, clearly indicating a worrying situation such as maybe the trains aren’t running, we would not ask them what was going on; we would have to proceed into the station ourselves in order to find out first-hand. So someone leaning over and joining our conversation is unusual, never mind offering to lend me money when he had no guarantee that he would ever see it again. (I knew that he would, but he didn’t know that he would. I’m honest, really!) It might be cheeky but I was so devastated to miss out on GOL that I eventually agreed to take his money if he would accept a cheque for that amount. He was still taking a chance, as it could have been a counterfeit or bad cheque (rather than simply an overdrawn one!), and he’d never find me. Why should he face the risk? I don’t know, but he did. We had that Ron Bond, I guess. He even went and got my copy of the CD when he got his own. Leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it? So thanks very much to ‘John Doe’ for his extraordinary kindness, and to Ron for inspiring such feelings in his fans.

And now, you will be thrilled to hear, if any of you are still awake, you have reached the end of my epistle, and you are free to get back to your lives!!

If anyone wants a visual of the Union Chapel, visit their homepage at http://www.unionchapel.org.uk/

Copyright © 2003 by TC. All rights reserved.
 

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have visited this page reviewing Ron Sexsmith performing live at the Union Chapel since 26 March 2005.