Pauline Murray and Helen McCookerybook played a matinee at the Prince Albert, Brighton on 13 June - the same day that a small group of right-wingers tried to march through Brighton (beautifully out-numbered by thousands of Carnival Against Fascism counter-protesters). Everett True reports ...
Some people pulled back the blackout blinds to have a look at all the shouting in the street outside. I thought that was quite rude.
I took notes instead.
I am not denying that it was distracting — a full-on face-off between a load of… WARNING: PERSONAL BIAS… out-of-town racist wankers too cowardly to protest on their own doorstep (presumably because they are aware violence and property destruction often ensue when they are around), and a lively diversity of locals who don’t like the idea of racist dickheads being allowed to march through their town unchallenged and unchecked. Oh, and a few lines of police, their horses all sleek and large and beautiful. But really: if you wanted to see it that much, couldn’t you have just walked down the stairs and looked out the front door of the Albert (situated strategically right next to Brighton station) instead of distracting everyone else inside with your curiosity?
Both performers, female punk rockers, performed solo to the accompaniment of chanting from outside the pub that sometimes threatened to drown out their very human, beautiful songs. (“How do they tell who are the racists?” asked my daughter later. “You just have to look at their faces,” I should have replied – “distorted with fear and hate, and so ugly.” Instead I stated, “Both sides dress in their tribal colours like football fans, so you can tell them apart.”)
I took notes occasionally, and they started off with a documented “fucking hell” (an interjection from Helen McCookerybook in response to a particularly loud burst of noise). She then sings the multi-cultural, supportive ode to the Orange Line in London that she likes precisely because it is so multi-cultural: “People from every walk of life on the ginger line,” as she sings. “They’re getting very loud out there, aren’t they?” she comments, while regaling us with tales of the one time she took acid in her life (‘Heaven Avenue’, based on the Old Shoreham Road between Hove and Portslade), and dedicating an old Chefs song (‘Let’s Make Up’) to her former bandmate and brother James, who died last year.
It is distracting, I am not denying it, but it’s certainly not helped by the people drawing back the blackout blinds. Go downstairs if you want to look.
Helen prefaces ‘The Sea’ by saying, “I’m singing this because… I support refugees.” Yeah, I don’t think there is much concern about whose side everyone inside is on. Or maybe there is? Do not assume anything.
Pauline Murray is beset by nerves – centred around the lack of her favourite chair and whether she should or should not be wearing her glasses – certainly not helped by the sound of the crowd outside. She is so charming it doesn’t matter. Such a great voice, too. I am not familiar with many of the songs (although I am a big fan of her old band Penetration’s first two albums), though I do spot ‘Drifting Away’ and the wonderful ‘Dream Sequence’. In places, she reminds me of Patrik Fitzgerald – I believe the two shared a backing band, The Invisible Girls, way back when.
She plays ‘Don’t Dictate’ twice, apologising over fumbling chords and forgetting sections, though she doesn’t need to. We wouldn’t have noticed. We don’t notice. She has a great voice. “Don’t worry,” I call out. “It makes it more real.” It does, though, doesn’t it?
“Fucking shut up,” she says hopefully to the noise outside.
I don’t think she should have played ‘Don’t Dictate’ twice just for the benefit of a couple of old male punks in the audience. I would have preferred one of her newer songs.
Strange gig. Strange afternoon. Two wonderful people.
By the time the gig finished, we were able to cross the empty street between the two lines of police straight back to Alice’s home – two minutes’ walk away.