Live Reviews | 2011
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22 February 2012
The Floating Palace is a loose collection of musical collaborators which was put together by musical collaborator extraordinaire, Robyn Hitchcock, first for The Celtic Connections festival and then given a few more outings presumably because it's such a good idea. The Floating Palace is also Howe Gelb (another arch-collaborator) who has been described previously on these very pages and by this very reviewer as "unable to do any wrong" and "just gets better and better as time goes on". Then there's some English folk royalty in the form of a brace of Carthys - Martin Carthy, who gave Dylan an early leg up by pointing him in the direction of some good tunes, and is a noted guitarist and another arch collaborator and there's also his daughter Eliza Carthy famed for her family and solo work and collaborations with the likes of Spiers and Boden and as part of The Imagined Village. Add in Fence collective alumnus K.T. Tunstall, and the relative newcomer Krystle Warren and you clearly have the makings of a memorable night. Certainly an eclectic mix. And here's the first confession of the night - despite having been going to folk clubs for, let’s call it quite a long time, I have never yet seen Martin Carthy live. I was quite taken aback when I realised that. We're told straight off that we're lucky to have Eliza - she's suffering with a sore throat and general grottiness - and although this doesn't seem to affect her playing or her clear singing she does look a bit unwell at times. 
Everyone took part in one or other of the first few songs - Robyn's typically quirky "Ole Tarantula", Howe and Krystle on her soft soulful- folky "You can take me with you", and KT Tunstall's "White Bird" given a proper folky makeover with the guitar and fiddle of the Carthy's. Eliza's "Revolution" was a whole band effort, on this tender love song where Eliza's strong vocals just heighten the emotion of loss and thwarted love. At this point it seemed that the evening's format was set, but as it progressed it became apparent that the core of the first half was the Carthys with one or other (or both) featuring on every song. There's a beautiful guitar and fiddle tune (Hitler’s Downfall) with Martin, Eliza and Robyn – and a little gentle chaffing of Martin by his daughter during his introduction. It's just possible that she's heard the anecdotes before. The hug he gives her at the end says it all though, here's the proudest folk father in the country. Eliza drove the tune along with her fiddle playing - tonight she seemed to be full on folky Eliza Carthy rather than her more recent outings as singer-songwriter Eliza Carthy.
As combinations come and go it's a little bit ramshackle - but a lot of great music. The many change overs are covered with on-stage banter - Robyn Hitchcock's being reliably surreal, it all contributes to the feeling of being in a really good folk club for an after-hours lock-in. A feeling perfectly underscored by the first half closer - K.T. Tunstall stood on a wooden crate between the Carthy's as if to emphasize her distinct lack of height, for a beautiful a cappella rendition of her "Shanty of the Whale". A whale hunting story told from the whale's point of view as he sees his fate when the whalers close in. Haunting and beautiful enough for anyone - why doesn't she stick to this kind of stuff ? And so, second confession of the evening - K.T. Tunstall is, despite previous statements this writer may have made to the contrary, rather good.
If the first half had belonged to the Carthy's then the rest of the ensemble took greater prominence in the second half. Howe Gelb doffed his baseball cap and seemed happier to take a solo spotlight on Vic Chesnutt's "Expiration Day" - with his guitar playing exploring some strange aural regions and the vocals hitting home like a series of velvet gloved sucker punches. There are damn few songs that manage to cover despair, love, regret and stoic resignation and even fewer that do it this well.
Which is not to suggest that the Carthy's disappeared - they, with Robyn Hitchcock, did a fine reading of "Sir Patrick Spens", which bounced along with vibrant guitars and fiddle with Martin Carthy's distinctive unaffected vocals. Robyn and KT did the latter's beautiful new song of yearning hopeless love "Red Tulip", off her new EP of the same name.
The end of the second set was another ensemble piece - with an extra voice from Green Gartside who joined them on stage (eventually). K.T. Tunstall gave a powerful vocal display leading on the Jackson 5’s “I want you back" - funky and quirky and not what you'd probably expect to see from this group - a genuine riotous one off. Green and Krystle Warren bopped in sync', Eliza did the funky chicken and KT did the "these leather trousers are too tight to dance in" dance. Quite a combination of sight and sounds.
A superb encore of an unaccompanied "Uncorrected Personality traits" was another a cappella treat, and wonderfully funny. And as Robyn Hitchcock introduced the final song there was more sporadic, but inexplicable, laughter as he half-sighed "Well we've all been singing folk music" - as if there was a word there that wasn't true. The last folk song of the evening was Lennon's "Because", a perfect little close harmony treat as a final closer.
And really, what should one expect from such an evening ? There was a lot of great music, and a good time had by all. There were a couple of really stunning moments, and it's possible to suggest that a couple of ok songs could have taken fuller life. But, was that the point ? Surely the point was to make the most of a unique opportunity to mix these musicians up and see what happened, and what happened was good. And the Palace of song floats by, never to be seen again and leaving only memories.
The Long Count is set in a time before time itself existed, and before it formally begins the sounds of a baseball game are piped into the auditorium, punctuated at long intervals with an intoned countdown to zero – which is when the Dessners take to the stage performing a tug of war over a symbolic guitar suspended mid-stage. As the guitar bounces on the floor the thought coalesces - was there ever a time when there was only a single guitar in the Dessner household? Tonight, though, they both have an instrument, and they play intertwined but different harmonies, the counterpoints being supported by the chamber orchestra which sits to one side of the stage. As they play weird, almost random, motions of light and colour move in chaotic patterns behind them. Strange masked figures appear - first Shara Worden, clad in an intricately patterned corte, who sings delicately as she crosses the stage. Then comes Tunde Adebimpe, as a Lord of Death, the master of the games, already tall but looming over events from a plinth. When he sings we're at the closest point to the territory of The National. Suddenly it's very clear where that band's most orchestrated songs - such as 'About Today' - have come from: here is that familiar hypnotic feeling, stemming from the interplay of the Dessners’ distinctive guitar playing, the classical instruments and Adebimpe's baritone. All at once everything just falls into place and the listener's remaining barriers are broken down and the music and the spectacle takes over. Kelley Deal also features prominently, her strident singing somewhat reminiscent of Nico - she also creates part of the back projected images as she scrapes at the floor with a sacrificial dagger as she crawls across the stage.
The deadly tests are symbolised by the brothers Dessner putting down their guitars and taking up baseball bats which they use to batter into shrieking life a guitar which is once more hung over the stage. The tests end with Adebimpe declaring forlornly "I will no longer play these games" as if Death has finally wearied of his endless victories.