 | | Richard Thompson (pic: Ron Slenzak) |
Indeed, the self-deprecating humour and nonchalant stance belie his place in the story of English music. This is, after all, one of the pioneers of modern folk, a founder of Fairport Convention and a songwriter capable of sweeping from wringing emotion to genuine laughter at the drop of his trademark hat. It in those songs that Thompson has faith to provide the entertainment live, but too often tonight, a palpable reverence of his past just couldn’t be shaken off. Maybe it was the venue. The Bridgewater is a formal space, not made for audience participation, and the bereted troubadour had difficulty getting the assembled to join in. That said, his own jaw-dropping talent could also be to blame. How can you join in with a pair of musicians with frighteningly superb ability, like Thompson and his accomplice, Danny Thompson (no relation, except through a long held bond of music)? He did manage to raise laughter, as he explained that there are 86,000 of his most recent release Front Parlour Ballads “still to shift in the warehouse”, and that the secret to saying whatever you like on record was to stick in “a bouncy, wacky sing-along chorus”. Try as he might though, he couldn’t ever truly defeat the expanse of emptiness that filled the space between him and the sell-out crowd. He might be a brave man for trying it, but next time, he needs to find somewhere less formal where his fans can raise their voices as well as their praise.
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