Ed McBain: Killer's Wedge (1959) and Money Money Money (2001)

 

Thanks to the book exchange at my local train station (I owe them a lot of books), I recently discovered crime writer Ed McBain. Real name Evan Hunter - formerly Salvatore Lombino - McBain wrote 55 books in his 87th Precinct series about a squad of detectives working in the fictional city of Isola (a barely disguised New York City). The main character is usually Detective Steve Carella, but the series also features a large ensemble of secondary characters that reappear from book to book.
  
The two McBain novels I happened upon at the book exchange were Killer's Wedge (1959) and Money Money Money (2001). Killer's Wedge features an intriguing double-plot structure: the first thread involves a woman named Virginia Dodge holding the squad-room hostage with explosives while she awaits the return of  her intended victim, Detective Carella, while the second plot strand follows the case Carella is out working on, which is a locked-room murder mystery in an old mansion complete with feuding family members and a shifty butler. The way these two threads are weaved together is masterful, with Carella's investigation actually serving as something of breather from the knuckle-whitening tension of the hostage situation back at the station. 

I was curious as to whether the series would have changed much over the 42 years that seperate Killer's Wedge from Money Money Money. It both has and hasn't. McBain employs a floating timeline that means the books are always set roughly in the present -  whenever that might be at the time of release - while the characters stay the same age, meaning that everyone from Killer's Wedge is still around in Money Money Money. The actual style of the books, however, has undergone a significant shift: where Killer's Wedge was a lean 159 pages, Money Money Money is over twice that length and features a sprawling plot involving a huge cast of characters. A less skilled author could easily tie himself in knots with a story like this, but McBain takes it all in stride, weaving a compelling tale of counterfeit banknotes, international drug smuggling, and scheming terrorists. Given the book's release date of 6th September 2001, some of the aspects of the story take on an even more chilling edge in light of the events that occurred five days later, and McBain addresses this terrible coincidence in the afterword.

It's not all bleakness, however. Another change from the earlier book is that the morbid humour has been cranked up. There's a sequence where the Larry David-esque Detective Ollie Weeks calls round to a woman's house to tell her that her husband has been murdered. During the conversation, he notices a freshly-baked cake sitting on the kitchen sideboard, and gradually begins to resent the grieving widow for not offering any to him. Another scene features the detectives discussing the best actors to play US Presidents in movies, with special praise reserved for Harrison Ford as President James Marshall in Air Force One. It's in scenes like this that McBain proves himself a master of dialogue, assigning a distinctive voice to even the most marginal of characters.

Both Killer's Wedge and Money Money Money are great crime novels, the kind that simultaneously leave you fully satisfied yet eager for more. I'm looking forward to (hopefully) reading the other 53(!).

The Barbershop Chronicles (The Roundhouse, 25/7/2019)

The Barbershop Chronicles is a play by Nigerian poet and playwright Inua Ellams, set in six barber shops in six cities, offering a glimpse into the lives of the people who work in and frequent them - and, in the process, giving us a unique study of masculinity.

The Roundhouse is set out, appropriately, theatre-in-the-round style with the audience surrounding the stage, making us feel like we are in the barbershop too, perhaps waiting for a haircut or just stopping by to listen in on the conversation. Everything is discussed, from football to women to fatherhood to the history of n-word, all delivered so naturally that the audience becomes part of the dialogue too - it's not uncommon to see people in the crowd nodding or saying "that's right" after hearing an opinion that resonates with them. Perhaps most importantly, the play refreshingly depicts its all-black, all-male cast as just a group of regular men with regular problems and worries.

The dramatic core of the show is provided by the story of Samuel, a young barber who works in a shop formerly owned by his father,  but now run by his father's best friend Emmanuel. Samuel resents Emmanuel for the circumstances leading to his father's incarceration, and the play navigates how their relationship is affected when the tension finally reaches boiling point. The performances by Mohammed Mansaray (as Samuel) and Anthony Ofuegbu (as Emmanuel) are exceptional, and their final scene together is sure to have even the most cynical viewer in tears.

This isn't to sell short the efforts of the rest of the excellent cast, who perfectly navigate the frequent shifts between hilarity and tragedy; special mention must go to the hilarious Demmy Lapido, who has a true gift for comedy.

The Barbershop Chronicles is a warm, skillfully directed play that raises many issues related to masculinity that simply are not discussed enough. Hopefully, this play will serve as a conversation starter for everyone who sees it.

Gary Clark Jr at the Roundhouse, London (17/06/2019)

Beginning with his major label debut Blak and Blue in 2013, Gary Clark Jr has been practically at pains to demonstrate that there is more to him than the blues that he has been playing since he was a teenager in Austin, Texas; all three of his studio albums boast an impressive – sometimes dizzying – array of styles, ranging from soul to hip-hop to contemporary R&B. His latest album, This Land, continues his mission to free himself from cloying ‘blues saviour’ expectations, and provided him with a good reason to stop by London’s Roundhouse on 17th June.

Striking an effortlessly cool figure as he strode onto the stage just after 8:30pm, Clark was joined by his four-man band, which has been expanded for this tour with the addition of keyboardist Jon Deas and his huge bank of keys and synthesisers. Clark’s ventures into different genres had rewarded him with a lively young audience, sprinkled with the older blues aficionados who, one imagines, might have been hoping for a less adventurous set list. New material was blended seamlessly with older cuts like “Bright Lights” and "Ain’t Messin’ ‘Round", which were rapturously received, but the highlight came when bassist Johnny Bradley and second guitarist King Napata left Clark and Deas to perform a mini acoustic set, for which they turned the audience into a congregation for a soulful performance of “Church” with Deas on gospel-style piano.

Friendly without being overly chatty, Clark’s strong rapport with the audience was rewarded with shouts of “Go on, Gary!” when he really got his teeth into a guitar solo. Possibly the most interesting moment occurred when, in the space between “You Saved Me” and “Low Down Rolling Stone”, Clark began noodling seemingly absent-mindedly, playing the blues. Before long the crowd was whooping and hollering, and the solo built up steam before Clark eventually segued into the next song. It was an all too brief reminder that, for everything Gary Clark Jr has done to distance himself from the blues, he remains a true master of the craft.

The Rolling Stones at the London Stadium, 25/5/18

Nearly six years after seeing the Rolling Stones for the first time at the O2 Arena, I found myself reunited with the band at the massive London Stadium in Stratford. I was keenly aware of the possibility that the band might have slowed down since I last saw them, but fortunately this wasn't the case; if anything, intervening years had loosened them up a little, and they looked and sounded in fine form. 

The customary introduction - "Ladies and Gentlemen, The Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band in the world, The Rolling Stones!" -was followed by the eardrum -shattering roar of Keith Richards blasting out the opening chords of 'Jumpin' Jack Flash'. From behind him came the steady, swinging drumbeat of Charlie Watts, the wiry lead guitar of Ronnie Wood, and the all-singing, all-dancing, inexplicable phenomenon that is Mick Jagger.

From start to finish, the show was a masterclass in stadium-sized rock 'n' roll, with the spectacle that has sometimes overwhelmed previous tours taking a backseat to the music itself. The highlights came thick and fast: Keith channeling the spirit of Chuck Berry on 'It's Only Rock 'n' Roll'; opening act Florence Welch joining Mick onstage to sing 'Wild Horses'; Keith stepping up to the mike to sing 'The Worst' with Ronnie adding beautiful pedal steel. For me, the song of the night was the dramatic 'Midnight Rambler', which served as a thrilling reminder of the menace the Stones once embodied and, on this evidence, can still summon when necessary. The 80,000-strong crowd was with them every step of the way, and the band fed off their energy and channelled it into the songs.

As I had done in 2012, I left the show with the impression that this is not a band planning to call it quits anytime soon. Long may they run!


Happy Birthday to Ronnie (1st June) and Charlie (2nd June)

Thanks to Alex

Ginger Baker at the Jazz Café, 03/04/2018

I’ve been fascinated by Ginger Baker ever since I saw the documentary Beware of Mr Baker, which chronicles the drummer’s life and career both before and after his time as the drummer in the legendary band Cream. Baker comes across as a difficult, curmudgeonly man in the film, but I couldn’t help but respect him, both for the incredible life he has lived – a life so bizarre and eventful that it resembles what might happen if a Viking were transplanted into modern times – and for his mercurial ability as a drummer.

It was with this in mind that I went to see Ginger perform live at the Jazz Café in Camden. Ginger is now 78 years old, and has dealt with numerous health problems over the last several years, but still plays the occasional gig with his jazz band, which features percussionist Abass Dodoo, saxophonist Pee Wee Ellis, and bassist Alec Dankworth. A stellar line-up, but the real question was: what kind of mood would Mr Baker be in? I had heard some horror stories, and the scowling expression on the drummer's face as he entered the building suggested the worst.

Fortunately, Ginger cheered up considerably after taking the stage. He looked frail, but the moment he picked up his drumsticks the years seemed to fall away, and Baker looked completely in command as he pounded out a series of complex rhythms. The interplay between Baker, Dodoo and Dankworth was something to behold, as they locked into a hypnotic groove through which Ellis weaved his saxophone parts.

The musical skill on display was one thing, but the real highlight for me was Ginger himself; it might be hard to imagine for anyone familiar with the hardened curmudgeon of Beware of Mr Baker, but we were treated to an evening of Ginger laughing, smiling, cracking jokes with both the band and the audience and telling stories (including one about the time he accidentally drove his car off the side of a mountain in Italy, landed in an olive tree, and then spontaneously decided to start an olive farm). He would probably never admit it, but he looked delighted to be back on stage.

Eventually, as the set wore on, the rigours of drumming began to take their toll, and during the penultimate song, an exhausted Ginger placed his drumsticks down and signalled to be helped from the stage. The audience recognised the effort he had put forth with a huge round of applause, and Ginger turned around and raised his hand in acknowledgement. Afterwards, the band played on for one song without Ginger, which showcased Abass Dodoo’s percussion skills.

It was a real privilege to see Ginger perform, as I suspect that he is a complete one-off who won’t be replicated any time soon. It was even better to catch him in a good mood, and I hope he continues to enjoy playing for a long time to come.

 

Marc Ribot at Café Oto, 22/01/2018

Inside the Café Oto in Dalston (which really is a café by day, transforming into a music venue by night), there stood a chair, an amplifier, two microphones, and a well-used 1963 Fender Jaguar guitar. Once the 200-or-so audience members had taken their places and had time to buy drinks and chat to each other for a little while, the unassuming figure of Marc Ribot – best known for his collaborations with Tom Waits - emerged from a discreetly-placed doorway, contentedly surveyed the crowd, and passed through the room almost unnoticed, save for a few fans who spotted him and shook his hand as he made his way to the front. Once everyone in the room realised that the star of the show had arrived, a hush descended, and Ribot made his way into the spotlight with his trusty 1937 Gibson HG-00 acoustic guitar. With his shock of silver hair, grey suit jacket, and glasses perched on the end of his nose, Ribot could pass for a learned academic; which, in the field of guitar playing, you could say he is.

After the applause had died down and Ribot had thanked the audience, the guitarist set to work. The first few moments of the show reminded me of watching someone paint a picture; with the first few brushstrokes it is impossible to know where the artist is headed, but as you watch them work you start to get an idea of what they are going for. So it was with Marc Ribot: the first few notes sounded random and discordant, but gradually everything fell in to place. Hunched over his guitar, one minute Ribot would be playing a gentle jazz piece by one of his favourite composers, the next suddenly launching into a burst of frenzied improvisation, to the point where I began to wonder how much longer the strings of the battered Gibson could withstand such assaults. Occasionally a snippet of a familiar melody would emerge from the chaos, only to be instantly sucked back into the maelstrom.

For the second set, Ribot switched to his electric guitar and played a selection of pieces by the composer John Cage (after assuring the audience he wouldn't be playing any silent pieces). This section was much mellower than the frenetic opening section, but the audience remained just as enthralled. Ribot then switched back to the acoustic for some more improvised pieces, and then returned for a warmly-received encore.

I really enjoyed this show, which was intense and challenging in the best possible way. Far from being an excuse for Ribot to show off, it felt like watching someone look for something, tweaking and adjusting their work until they stand back and realise they’ve got it just right. 

 

O'Donaghue's Pub, Dublin

Dublin has many, many pubs, but the one I was most excited to visit was O’Donaghue’s on Merrion Row (not to be confused with the other O’Donoghue’s on Suffolk Street).This pub is famous for being the spiritual home of traditional Irish music, and the birthplace of one of Ireland’s most famous bands, The Dubliners. It’s fair to say that, were Irish folk music a religion, O’Donaghues’s would be the place people would take pilgrimages to.

The inside of O’Donaghue’s is more or less exactly as it would have been fifty years ago. To the right of the entrance is an alcove below the front window, where in the evening you can usually count on finding a revolving cast of musicians engaged in a ‘session’, where each take turns in singing and accompanying each other in front of a huddle of reverent observers. Then there’s a narrow (and usually jam packed) thoroughfare in front of the bar which leads to a small seated section at the back, where, if you’re lucky, another session will be in progress. We were lucky, and parked ourselves directly across from the musicians, after furnishing ourselves with a pint of Guinness, of course.

The interior walls of the pub are covered from top to bottom with photographs of legendary musicians who had visited over the years; there were many pictures of Ronnie Drew, Luke Kelly and the gang, but many more of other people I didn’t know, all of whom looked like they had interesting stories to tell.

Interestingly, the musicians were all playing totally unamplified, but they appeared to be using the building’s unique acoustics to allow their singing and playing to cut through the noise from other areas of the pub. The first group we saw were a duo, one musician playing the guitar and the other a banjo, which they occasionally swapped. Their repertoire wasn’t limited to traditional tunes either, as they transformed Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘El Condor Pasa’, Johnny Cash’s ‘Folsom Prison Blues’, and The Beatles’ ‘A Day in the Life’ into ancient Irish folk songs.

On our second visit the next day, we listened to a different group headed by a singer named Victor Byrne, who sang amazing renditions of ‘The Lakes of Ponchartrain’ and ‘Caledonia’, before handing over to another singer who performed a beautiful ‘From Clare to Here’. I wasn’t familiar with these songs, but by this point I was taking copious mental notes of the songs I liked so I could look them up later. The musicians were very approachable, and glad to tell us the names of songs we didn’t know.

I will definitely coming back to O’Donaghue’s next time I’m in Dublin, and I’m looking forward to seeking out sessions at other pubs in the city. There are many, many pubs in Dublin, but I think I will be lucky to find another one as magical as O’Donaghue’s of Merrion Row.