Longing, or the addiction to longing
In these times, when we are still doing rather well,
yet news from other countries often paints a grim picture, we mainly long for
better times. In other countries, people are now even longing to overcome
hopelessness. But there are also very small longings here and there – the
longing for love, sometimes just for an ice cream (although, at the moment,
with energy prices as they are, we’re starting to long more for a warm living
room). Longing – a theme at the Folk Club, chosen as a logical follow-up to previous
themes – first setting off (on holiday), then returning (from holiday) and now
longing (for the next holiday) – well, as I’ve already mentioned, we’re
actually still doing quite well./
But one thing all Folk Club visitors long for is to
hear the master of ceremonies, John Harrison, open the event with the welcoming
call: ‘Laaaadiiieeees and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Messieurs………’. This longing is
never disappointed, and so, once again, a fireworks display of great music
kicked off in exactly the same way. John had plenty of other engagements
throughout Friday and therefore seemed just a tiny bit rushed, though this did
not detract from his musical performance. With the opening song ‘Night Watchman’,
he sang, so to speak, about a colleague, for John is Bonn’s English-speaking
night watchman, who, with plenty of imagination and musical accompaniment,
satisfies people’s longing for information from the 17th century. He continued
with the children’s ballad ‘Ring Around Rosie’ (a longing for peace), rewritten
by Arlo Guthrie with anti-war lyrics, before bringing the set to a fitting
close with a longing for his beloved’s black hair (‘Black Is The Colour Of My
True Love’s Hair’).
Kai Hofstetter brought another kind of longing –
namely, that for happy childhood days – to the stage by performing his own
German lyrics set to Bob Dylan’s ‘Tambourine Man’ under the title ‘Hey, alter
Puppenspieler’. With his ‘Hexentanz’ (Witches’ Dance), he took a critical yet
humorous look at both human love and Walpurgis Night. What could be more
wonderful than being burnt by your beloved red-haired witch (please don’t send
me an answer to this question – it was rhetorical :-) ). And for anyone who hadn’t
yet realised that all of Kai’s songs revolved around longing, this was now made
very clear once again. He rounded off his short set with the hit ‘Sehnsucht’ –
reminiscent of Russian ballads and still familiar to many from Alexandra’s
version in the late 1970s – and encouraged, or rather hoped, that the audience
would sing along.
This time, Drei & Anders were not – as the name
implies – a quartet, as Oliver Trübestein was unable to attend. So Frank
Radeiski and Uwe Gillert (with Oliver it would have been three) performed this
time with Uwe’s son Maximillian on the double bass. Three original compositions
awaited us, all three of which told tales of longing in a ballad-like style.
One about the one who appears in one’s dreams (“Meine Träume”), one direct and
unadorned in the track “Sehnsucht”, and one as a holiday memory with “Sommer in
Italien” – beautifully arranged for two-part vocals and accompanied by lead and
solo guitar. And the double bass provided a powerful, rhythmic and, with
surprising phrasing, perfectly synchronised accompaniment.
In their first performance, Kathrin Kangro & Michel
swapped their usual roles. According to Michel, Kathrin is the musical leader
in the duo and he provides support. In ‘Retirement Song’, however, he was
allowed (or perhaps had to?) take the lead and was backed by Kathrin and the
audience in the chorus. The chorus, of course, immediately highlighted once
again who’s in charge in the duo, as one line goes: “I’ll be a man wherever my
woman will be”. The programme continued, showcasing Kathrin’s beautiful voice
as it soared to the highest registers, with the English traditional “Johnny I
Hardly Knew Ye” and the Scottish love ballad “The Broom Of The Cowdenknowes”.
The featured artist of the evening hailed from Canada
this time – although he would have had a shorter journey in the past, having
been born in the UK. Chris Ronald proved himself to be a consummate
professional through and through. With calm confidence, he played his guitar,
at times strumming rhythmically, at others plucking delicately, and didn’t let
himself be ruffled even when a string snapped. His only comment as he switched
from his own guitar to John’s was: “That’s the beauty of folk clubs – there are
always plenty of guitars available to borrow.” As a guitarist myself, I can say
that every guitar plays slightly differently and it always takes a bit of time
to get used to a different neck shape, a different fretboard width, and
different strings. Chris did this very spontaneously, so that nobody realised
he was playing someone else’s guitar, and – to emphasise this once again – he
played it beautifully. I don’t want to go into the details of every single song
here, but one simply has to be mentioned – the story of his grandparents, who
were very proud to be married and saw that pride symbolised in their wedding
rings. After his grandfather’s ring broke whilst working on a grinding machine,
it was repaired by a goldsmith; however, due to a lack of additional gold, the
ring was subsequently too small to wear. Later passed down to Chris, he wore it
constantly on a chain round his neck. Unfortunately, it went missing during a
folk festival (bad weather, lots of mud) and, despite the active support of other
musicians, it could not be found – yet through this search, Chris found many
friends and a great deal of human kindness. He then incorporated the whole
story into the song ‘Grandpa’s Wedding Ring’. If I were to recount every story
here that Chris has told and woven into his songs, this wouldn’t be a review of
the Folk Club, but a book. So my advice is: just come along to the next Folk
Club in person, and you’ll experience it all live. What else is there to say?
Well, for a start, that Chris not only brought outstanding guitar playing to
the table (as I’ve already mentioned), but that his vocals were also a minor
miracle to me. Although he tends to sing in a lower register, he had no trouble
singing in higher registers either, without a single note sounding strained –
all in all, for me, an extremely successful performance as a featured artist
(P.S. I’ve bought all three of his CDs and have already listened to each one
twice in full and with full concentration – that doesn’t happen very often for
me). For the sake of completeness, I’d also like to mention here that Chris
performed the songs ‘Chaperone’, ‘Timeline’, ‘The Busker’, ‘Grandpa’s Wedding
Ring’ and ‘The Mountaineer’ in the first half, as well as ‘Good News Story’,
‘Northern Lights Over Nottingham’, ‘Derby Days’, ‘Our Worst Enemy’, ‘City Girl’
and ‘Retirement Plan’. And regarding ‘Retirement Plan’, it’s worth noting that
he asked his little companion – a ukulele – for support; whilst this was gladly
granted, it also meant work for him – he had to play the instrument himself,
which he did superbly. The audience were also drawn into the performance
vocally, and so Chris bid farewell very skilfully with this very sense of
togetherness.
There were no limits to the enthusiasm, for after the
interval Gert Müller took to the stage once more, where he began by apologising
– in no uncertain terms – for the risk of the performance, expressing a truth
that most in the audience certainly felt. The continuous bursts of laughter
throughout his performance then showed that this apology had actually been
quite unnecessary, as he spoke straight from the audience’s hearts – speaking
of hearts: the poem is about the ‘battle of the organs’ for leadership within
the body – who is the boss. After an exchange of many weighty arguments –
though without reaching an agreement – the exit of a bodily cavity contracted
in on itself and proved, by gradually paralysing all bodily functions, that
only it could be the boss. And so the conclusion of the contest was this: the
only true arsehole who can be the boss is one who, unscrupulously and without
any necessary knowledge of how the other organs function, simply shits all over
everything.
Wolfgang Schriefer, too, had to vent about his years
of bad experiences with local public transport. “I’ve travelled all over the
world, but getting from Cologne to Bonn is often impossible.” With a cultural
nod (his own lyrics set to music by Bryan Adams and Karat), he described in a
very humorous way the difficulties of making the journey from his home to the
Folk Club. Here, too, there were plenty of laughs from the audience, because –
even though he didn’t provide any song titles himself, he gave me permission to
invent my own suitable ones – with the ‘ÖPNV Jammer Song’ and the ‘Bonner
Nordbrücke’, he not only struck a chord with the audience’s long-suffering
frustration, but also found the right words to transform a sense of
hopelessness into a purposeful longing.
Gerd Schinkel has been making rare public appearances
of late – well, everyone reaches an age where they have to consider which
activities to prioritise. A while ago, he suffered a further setback when he
unfortunately had a stroke. But hasn’t Gerd always railed against injustices
with his songs? And so it is now. With his song ‘Schlaganphallus’, he wittily
demonstrated that he won’t be defeated so easily and that he’s back in action
like a functioning phallus. But it wasn’t just the symbolism that worked well;
it’s also a lovely song with a catchy tune and good lyrics.
For me, another highlight – or perhaps more
accurately, a delightful ray of hope – was, and still is, Ute Brüggemann. A
voice as clear as a mountain stream, adapting to every obstacle without
disrupting the overall flow, transparent right down to the very bottom and
without a trace of cloudiness. Technically precise, yet by no means lacking in
emotion – that is how she comes across, and almost regardless of which song she
performs, the attributes used to describe her singing remain constant. Once
again, her forays into different musical genres were simply a delight to listen
to. In all her interpretations – ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ from *The Wizard
of Oz*, a typical ballad in the style of the 1920s to 1940s, ‘No, No, Never’, a
German country song from the early 2000s, and ‘Desperado’, a country rock song
by the Eagles from the 1970s, Ute demonstrated her skill impressively and with
great dedication.
I’ve already written about Chris’s second set, so all
that remains to be said is that, once again, it wasn’t too late for the joint
farewell song – or rather, the tribute to the FCB patron ‘Jock Stewart’ – and
the journey home began in a happy, uplifting mood.
But as you know: after the Folk Club is before the
Folk Club, and in November we’ll have the featured artists Stereo Naked, so
Out of the bedroom – come along to the Folk Club Bonn
on 6 November!
Yours, Mario
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