The Hu and cry for hu-manity through Mongolian music

I recently went to see The Hu perform in Brighton and I can’t praise them enough. It is a wonderful experience to go and see a live band play and come away not only having enjoyed the music but also having being filled with respect for the performers.

The Hu are a Mongolian rock band who have been playing together since 2016. There are eight musicians in all, and they play a wide range of instruments. The Morin khuur – there are two of them played in the band – is held like a guitar, played with a bow and is fashioned with an ornate handle such as a spearhead or a horse’s head. The tsuur is a kind of flute. There are drums and bass as well. Several members of the band sing in a deep resonant style called Mongolian throat singing, which is an integral part in the ancient pastoral animism that is still practised today.

The band calls their style of music hunnu rock, hu being a Mongolian root word for human. As well as being musically brilliant, they were exceptional live performers. Their rapport with the audience was one of boundless generosity. There was none of the egocentricity in the encore concept of most rock bands, where the band walk offstage and wait for ten minutes while the audience clap and cheer until the band come back, feigning modesty, and play two of their best known songs. The Hu just played and played, as if it was what they enjoyed doing most in the world. And ninety minutes later, they were still playing and as soon as they’d finished, the ‘encore’ thing happened so they came straight back and did another half an hour.

Their music is very powerful and rhythmic, ranging from rocking tunes like Yuve Yuve Yu to songs that are meditative and hypnotic. The audience loved them, although a woman next to me said that she thought it was a pity that she didn’t know what they were singing about. But it’s not difficult to find out. Their YouTube videos contain translations of the songs line by line as they are performed, and it is wonderful to understand the respect for their ancestors through their lyrics and musical heritage. For me, there was no language problem: the band invited us to join in with choruses and we could all emulate phonetically what they were singing. It was a privilege to embrace their culture.

The singer, Jaya, repeatedly thanked the audience in four English words. Another musician, Gala, had no English and the audience as far as I know had none of his language, but we applauded and cheered and he communicated his appreciation by thumping his heart with his fist. It was a perfect example of multicultural communication.

The Hu are currently on tour and I rank them among the best live bands I’ve seen, the criteria being that you leave the gig feeling like you’ve been to a party and danced and been included in a celebration and enjoyed every second. Gogol Bordello, Steel Pulse, Manu Chao, The Dropkick Murphys, The Hu, Motorhead (RIP Lemmy!), Greta Van Fleet – all these bands create the same atmosphere of rejoicing in music and a coming together of humanity. It’s what we need now as much as at any other time, the sense that music is shared together: it’s party time, an experience which connects us all and that we are basically humans, all the same, a one-world community who wish the best for others and for themselves.

The Hu are magnificent. They are on my list of bands I’d travel to watch again and again. They are seriously very good. Do go and watch them if you get the chance. Their music is hypnotic, celebratory and a damn good rocking night out.

 

 

Now about some of these old rock song lyrics…

I work at my computer most days and listen to rock music on the radio on my smart speaker. I love a lot of the songs and I enjoy the DJs’ banter, the cheery voices and the sense of company as a happy voice rattles away in the background while I type. Most of the music is pacy and energetic, ideal when you’re writing a novel.

Of course, I am aware that there’s a down side of the radio station. The presenters are, reflecting the rock-music world, (bar one woman on the early slot on a Saturday and Sunday morning,) white and male. They seem nice enough guys but there isn’t much in the way of diversity, and that clearly needs to be addressed. The same is true when it comes to the music they play. But maybe other fans of the radio station would tell me that rock bands are mostly male and mostly white. I think that needs to change.

Of course there are the exceptions. Jimi Hendrix wasn’t white and he was one of the best rock guitarists ever. Janis Joplin wasn’t a man and she was one of the best vocalists, although her songs, influenced from a blues background, are chiefly about men doing her wrong: just listen to the heart-breaking Ball and Chain and Piece of My Heart.

Old rock classics are being played all the time on the rock radio station I listen to and some of the older songs bring with them the problem of their social history, specifically misogyny: some of the lyrical content is  extremely outdated. The 1980s wasn’t a great time for women being perceived as equal to men: anyone who has watched an episode of The Professionals on TV or seen Legs and Co dancing on Top of the Pops , their faces stretched in an everlasting grin of pseudo-enjoyment, will know exactly what I mean. There was a time when a modicum of racism and sexism were tolerated by some people more than they should have been. And a lot of songs on the rock station come from this era and reflect this problem. But we can’t tolerate all that silliness now.

Rock isn’t the only musical genre not to cover itself in glory when it comes to misogynistic lyrics. But the station I listen to every day, that I enjoy listening to, will occasionally play something that makes me shake my head with disbelief. I tolerate Hendrix’s Hey Joe, even though ‘he shoots his woman down’ for ‘messing round.’ I put up with ZZ Top’s reductive Legs and the Rolling Stones’ inappropriate Brown Sugar and Under My Thumb, simply because they have been around for so long, but I remain unimpressed with the absurd lyrics.

I can even tolerate Neil Young’s A Man Needs a Maid if I ignore the lyrics and just listen to the tinkly tune: apparently, Neil meant ‘maid’ as in ‘Maid Marian’ and claimed that it was a genuine love song. That’s fair enough if you know the context.

I actually like Dire Strait’s song Lady Writer despite the subliminal inference that being a writer is normally a male profession and Marina Warner, whom I’m guessing the song is written about, breaks the norm by actually having a brain and writing about history. But some rock songs are lyrically off-the-scale-silly.

For example, listen to Jack and Diane by John ‘Cougar’ Mellencamp. This one beggars belief. It’s about two sixteen year-olds sitting in Jackie’s car. He dreams of being a football star while she gapes vacuously at his suggestion of running off behind a tree and letting him ‘do what he pleases.’ Really? I know this is an old-fashioned 1982 song but the lyrics convey an archaic message about choices for young girls and submissiveness shouldn’t be a choice. Try reversing the genders in the lyrics and see how farcical it all sounds.

Then there’s Bryan Adams’ Run To You. According to the song, he has found a hotter woman to two-time his cold partner with but it won’t hurt her if she doesn’t know. Bryan should have spoken to Jimi’s Hey Joe about the rock-consequences of ‘messin’ around’. Hilarious!

Meat Loaf’s Dead Ringer is another of those songs about the passive, compliant woman with nothing better to do and, the most laughable yet perhaps, is Rainbow’s All Night Long. Just check those lyrics! It’s the same deal as Rod Stewart’s Stay With Me: women as a one-night sex-toy. Was it ever acceptable? I didn’t think so when I heard the songs at the time – it struck me as being misogynistic nonsense and nothing’s changed. As for the suggestion that AC/DCs Whole Lotta Rosie is about celebrating the larger woman! I don’t think so. We’ll just leave it there.

Clearly, my beloved radio station needs to clean up its act, embrace the spirit of the new decade and employ more presenters who reflect the diversity of the world. They need to insist on a playlist that doesn’t denigrate women and encourage some poor men to think that unless they conform to an unpleasantly outmoded mindless priapic male-stereotype, they fail to live up to the presupposed potency of their guitar-grinding gods.

There are plenty of brilliant male guitar heroes out there playing professionally who think differently, who value women for their brains and their personalities and who wouldn’t be seen dead popularising versions of  the well-worn  ‘shag them and leave them and treat them mean’ story. I know several rock musicians personally and they are great guys, feminists even!

There are plenty of other good rock songs, plenty of good tracks from the long-forgotten past that admire women without demeaning them: I like Natural Born Bugie from Humble Pie which came out in 1969 as it’s a great song and not disparaging in its glorification of female beauty. There’s Hendrix’s melodic Little Wing which is a romantic song with great guitar and vocals. I have no problem with songs about sex; Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love and Lemon Song imply that the female in question has a modicum of choice in the arrangement and isn’t duped into a brief night of passion and then quickly discarded.

There are wonderful rockers who are great musicians and vocalists who happen to be women too, from Joan Jett to Joanne Shaw Taylor, Samantha Fish, Beth Hart, Joanna Connor. There are also very promising modern male rock bands: Greta Van Fleet’s Highway Tune is a nice example of a raunchy song that is inoffensive to women, as all songs should be.

And for real diversity, let’s have more of The Hu, a Mongolian heavy metal band formed in 1996, whose song Yuve Yuve is about the respected ethics of their ancestors. All these are much more appealing lyrically than the outdated topic of how many schoolgirls a rock singer can line up to have sex with in one night as he ogles them from his vantage point on the stage.

Although I won’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, there’s a letter to be written to someone who makes decisions about playlists on my favourite radio station. Gone are the times when this laughable stuff was acceptable. We’re in the twenties now. So I’ll continue to listen to rock radio but I’m not putting up with inequality or lyrical offence. The days when that sort of stuff was grudgingly accepted as being part of a male-orientated genre have well gone.

New Cam July 2011 095

Animation and music to make you smile.

I thought I’d share a Youtube song with an animated film, which made me feel really happy when I saw it. Happy weekend time.

It is Gogol Bordello’s Pala Tute.

Directed by  Aliaksei Tserakhau, the video is a mixed media collage which blends stop-motion animation and live action, with a lot of green screen work.

The story line is four minutes of mischief, featuring a tale of star-crossed lovers shown by Tarot cards. The action incorporates a tongue-in-cheek twist on traditional favourites such as Adam and Eve, King Kong and Dracula.

The visuals are stunning, featuring caravans which pass through time and space in fantasy, with claymation animated models of the three band members Eugene Hütz, Elizabeth Sun and Sergey Ryabtsev. The animated action is interspersed with Eugene’s performance, which is equally enthralling and animated.

The video, originally released in 2010, promotes the song Pala Tute from the excellent album Trans Continental Hustle. The chorus,

Lela lela lela, lela pala tute
Jas kana meres, mirala pala late

translates as

get her get her get her get her for yourself
and then, when you die, you’ll die for her

It is a lively song, great to dance to and, as I  have seen this band more times than fingers and thumbs I was born with, I can recommend any gig they play.

They tour all the time and are spectacular live. They have 2 days in London this summer, on 26/27 July, and are always memorable for their high energy and musical mayhem.

Don’t make the mistake I once did, last time I saw them in London, of buying a ticket for a seat. You won’t be able to sit in it for long. Every other time I have seen them has been on two feet. This band are best appreciated from the front of the auditorium, dancing in the crowd.

Mishto!

Magic fingers, bubbling music, spellbound.

Today as the sun was shining in the South of merry England, a postman dropped a brown envelope through my letterbox and walked away, whistling a catchy tune.

I was busy writing so I left the post for later, which made the contents of the envelope a real treat when I finally ripped the paper apart. Inside was a CD called Glass Ceiling by the Roger Gardiner Trio and I put it on my CD player and let the music saunter up into the sunshine, all rock and jazz and sweet sounds.

The trio comprises father, Rog, and two sons, Jack and Luke: all three are dazzling practitioners at their own instruments, but together the mix is magic.

Journalist Bill Parry, who writes the CD sleeve notes, is a gentleman, a scholar and a musicophile. The breadth of his knowledge of musical history equals his admiration for auditory ecstasy and his writing is quite special. He belongs to a genre where the reviewer’s write-up  is erudite, unpretentious and completely effusive. A treat to read. But his words are not superlatives without reason…

Rog plays an 8-string bass and it bubbles and bursts beneath the rest of the music like a volcano about to explode. It can’t be ignored but it rumbles and groans and persists with a hightailing effervescence which changes suddenly to a peppery warning which would be reckless to overlook.

Luke’s drums are consistent and creative: he has been shaking the sticks since he was in nappies and the experience and practice have paid off with faultless perfection as he weaves mischief with his spirited thunder.

Jack is a guitar-maestro: acclaimed worldwide as a rock musician, he creates a unique sound, all spiky licks and rippling riffs, music to make your head bend with each note and your soul soar like a rocket. His spider fingers weave across the fretboard and create a sound which is mesmerising and explosive.

Together the three cast a spell of pure genius. Add to the brew the smooth-as-honey voice of guesting singer, antipodean vocalist Lexi McDonald, and you have a melting, hypnotic and soothing delivery. It’s a strong brew, mixing the cauldron-bubbling bass, the magic sparks of the drums and the wild and ethereal elusiveness of a lead guitar which spins and whirls like a willo the wisp.

Glass Ceiling has seven tracks and was engineered at Glass House Studios, Birkenhead, an enterprise masterminded and managed by Rog’s wife, Jan.

Four of the tracks are innovative versions of some favourite musicians’ work, a homage to bands such as Cream, Jefferson Airplane and Grateful Dead. There is the beautiful, funky track,  Artist’s Garden, a creation by genius and ex-Dead Poppies guitarist, Ken Rutherford. Then there are two pieces by the three Gardiner boys themselves: Jam and Bossa Jam, both enthralling platforms to show off the impresario skills of a family whose musical ability rises beyond expectation.

On the back of the CD is the cutest picture of the band some 15 or so  years ago, when they had probably already been jamming together for several years. The boys were about three and six years old, grinning and frolicking with their instruments while Dad is pictured in the background, always hammering the ubiquitous pounding bass.

Starting them young is key to achieve consistently high-class musicianship – these guys could’ve recorded this album in their sleep – but what really makes this album special, beyond the faultless and inventive music, is the unifying sense of rapport, enjoyment and prowess which these dynamic musicians share as a trio. After all, three is a magic number.

Three times to yours, and three times to mine, and three times again, to add up to nine. Enough! The charm is ready.

It goes beyond family and energy and enthusiasm: Glass Ceiling is a masterpiece of sublime musical fusion.

Up a hill in the middle of nowhere. What would you miss most?

So, here I am in the middle of rural Brittany, up a very vibey hill which has legends of elves and korrigans and spirits and all sorts. The wind is moaning and dark clouds hang. Someone has just taken a photo of someone else and they have come out twice on the picture, no gadgets or tricks used, Very weird. And there’s no wifi and no technology. Nothing normal happens here…
What would you miss most from the real world as the darkness rolls in?

Strangely enough, it’s my electric toothbrush I find myself searching for. And music.


Food is good because I have a bottle opener and some wine, salad leaves and lots of fresh vegetables, strawberries and a packet of oat cream. But it’s very quiet here and there’s no music so I am left to my imagination to dream up what I’d play if I had Spotify.

In a quiet environment, one can go one of two ways. Either it has it be relaxing soporific mellow sounds. Or it has to be noise. You know which one I’m going for up a weird mountain in the dark.

So here’s my top five songs to play in the scary darkness…

Number five

Weezer. Hash Pipe. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRQswKjgF0E 

Lovely reliable music with a great repetitive riff, crazy lyrics, totally predictable rocky music which sticks a big grin on your face. Turn it up loud.

Number four

Damien Marley. Hey Girl. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPXd45pi4Xg

Superb live version with mad lyrics which make me laugh. Totally danceable and it is happy and clever and good to sing along to. This will banish any ghosties outside the tent or camper van…

Number three

Johnny Winter, Hustled down in Texas. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-2I5UePDBQ

Johnny died last year, aged 70, another incredible loss to rock music. Now he could play a guitar like a-ringing a bell and such a gutsy gravelly voice. I could choose a lot more of his music but this is one to keep the toes warm. I forgot the bed socks so I need something to keep the feet moving. 

Number two

Jack White/ White Stripes. Jolene. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4m5KrPXL4wI

This is such a lovely live version of Dolly’s song and Jack is just the right person to make this song rock. Beautiful, cheeky, clever and full of angst, with Jack’s crazy voice and indulgent guitar. The ideal track to listen to as the wind bangs against the tent flaps.

Number one

My favourite band in the whole world. I can sleep safe with this lot and a bottle of wine in my tent.

Gogol Bordello. Madagascar Roumania Tu Jesty Fata.

Lovely version of a traditional song mixed in with some original Gogol punk. Turn it up loud. Dance. Dance with friends. If an encore is needed before bed, try the old favourite, Start Wearing Purple. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=um1dSSPzc1I

Finish off the wine and curl up and go to sleep safely while the rain batters outside and tomorrow morning, as the tent flaps open, the world will be clear and calm, softened by mists and mellowed in the morning dew.

Then down the road to the nearest bar for a coffee and a pastis before breakfast…

We should dance more! Join me – become a crazy dancer..

Dancing is such a great way to celebrate and to enjoy how our bodies react when we’re enveloped in the rhythm and the emotion of music. I have decided this summer is all about spontaneous dancing. When no one expects it. Unplanned. Grab someone by the hand or just leap onto the table by yourself, shake a leg, a hip, arms up and just go wild.You don’t need an audience. You don’t need a reason. You just want to celebrate feeling happy.

It’s fun being a spontaneous dancer! This morning, as I was making breakfast, Shame, Shame, Shame by Shirley & Co came on my Spotify. The toaster was ignored; the coffee bubbled over, the marmite was left out in the cold. We were  in the kitchen, giving the raunchiest moves to a wonderful piece of music which transports you to fun clubs on outrageous and mischievous nights. By the end of the tune we were all on chairs, tables, jazz hands waving, with smiles as wide as slices of watermelon, feeling like who cares?

Which, of course, set me thinking. I should dance more often.

I was not the sort of child who was sent to ballet or tap classes. We weren’t that kind of family. Of course, I danced as a kid, from the beginning- I bet you did too, that saggy nappy dance where the knees bend and the bottom skims the floor, baby’s round face breaking a smile bigger than trapped wind and an innate, natural rhythm takes over. This is atavism. We were born to dance and we didn’t care less how we looked.

Remember it? We should bring that feeling back into our lives.

My Mum didn’t dance when I was a child. She was too poorly, too tired, too busy and harassed and anyway there wasn’t a lot to dance about. She did sing a lot of songs, mostly about death and loss.

My Dad, however, would have a couple of drinks at night and then he’d whip off his boots, leap over the fence and do a midnight watusi on some posh neighbour’s freshly mown lawn. The next day their roses would be flattened, their tulips downtrodden, and yes, that was my Dad who was probably snoring it off in a nearby hedge. Great days, bless him!

So, we should dance while we can. All the time. Throw our arms in the air, shake our bodies and sing. And here are five tracks I will put out there for you, especially to bring in a spring to your step this coming summer. I will be certainly pounding the floorboards  with these songs, and I’d love it if you’d join me.

Track 5. Motorhead. Ace of Spades. What else can I say? No need.

Track 4. Here’s an ideas you’ll love.You must try it. On a balmy summer night, take a table outside, on the patio, roof, balcony, street, by a lake, under a tree, somewhere you can light candles, put two chairs down and look up at the moon.Set out two glasses, a bottle of Vin Rouge, your favourite savoury nibbles and invite the love of your life (or someone you would like to be,) to join you. After a little conversation, a bit of gentle laughter, put on Manu Chao’s song, Si loin de toi. Whisk your amour to his or her feet and dance cheek to cheek to this tune. Best aphrodisiac, best smooch, bring on the good times.

Track 3.Or try this one. With a bottle  of beer and some good friends at night in the park or early on a Sunday morning to blow the cobwebs away.In the streets, on a bike, on a boat, or at the end of a great house party before everyone goes home. I’d bring in the New Year with the Dropkick Murphys. I’m Shipping up to Boston

Track 2. This is perhaps the most romantic song to dance to when you’re not by yourself and you don’t want to be: it has to be this one. I mean, if you wanted a slow dance with someone you know so well, someone you love or someone you just want to get to know better. If you want to pop a question or even ask a question you shouldn’t, or apologise or if you feel inarticulate and just want the music to do it all for you and express some deepest sentiment, here goes. Just rely on the Rev to rev the mood up for you.  Al Green.

Track 1. Here is my favourite track to dance to. I can rock to this one day and night and it makes my heart bump. For me, this is one of the best anthems by one of the best live bands I have ever seen, and I have seen them many, many times. They speak the thoughts of my soul in their lyrics and their music takes me to the place I am most at home in the world. I can dance my feet to stumps on this one, and on pretty much every song they have ever done.This song says it all – dance to it with fists punching the air, legs like pistons pounding, head back and singing along. It will always clear the dust away and banish any bluesy mood. Strong, positive, infectious music and a message I love. The best. Gogol Bordello’s Break the Spell.

So come on, let’s dance- as the classic song says, put on your red shoes and dance the blues. Bowie’s for another blog, with possibly lots more crazy dance tracks to follow. I mean, I haven’t really got started yet, have I? Where’s the reggae?

Meanwhile, barefoot or booted, get on down and live it up. It doesn’t matter who you’re with or where you are or what you look like when you’re doing it. Let’s just enjoy the moment and  crazy dance the summer days away!

The Tiger Lillies: so beautiful, Brechtian and bad to the bone

Love is a strange thing. We love things which lift our spirits. Spring time makes everything feel better. Or a glass of wine on a Friday night, an unexpected gift or a compliment, a work of art we can see at close range in a gallery, Beckett performed live,  a quiet beach at sunset.

How much happier do we feel when our spirits are lifted by something beautiful?

The Tiger Lillies are in this category, as far as I am concerned. They make me smile and I can’t help it. Their music is evocative, sensual, raucous, cathartic but they are truly bad to the bone.

Like many fans of The Tiger Lillies, I discovered them through watching the film Plunkett and Macleane. Their songs Hell and Whore featured in the score and I wanted to know who this band were who played accordion and sang in the crazy falsetto  style, and I checked them out. Since then, I have been hooked.

Think of Bertolt Brecht’s Threepenny Opera, a play set to music: a narrator with a white painted face mask enters, barks obscenities at the audience and then whips up energy on stage to make the lehrstucke vivid and immediate, explaining the world as it is. Now imagine The Two Penny Opera, The Tiger Lillies album, and a ‘cheaper’ version. Three figures on the stage: a bass player who also plays the saw, a drummer with a constantly moving kit which includes a hanging chicken and a baby doll, and an accordion player who sings in a bowler hat and grotesque make up. The Tiger Lillies are not only visually distinctive, but visually unforgettable. But it is their sound which amazes and takes the breath away.

I have seen them perform live several times. Once I saw them in a huge auditorium in Manchester. They were spectacular and the audience heckled them good-naturedly for two hours while they played encore after encore as requests.

I saw them in a dive in Bristol where they were superb and I sat on the front row in a huge coat (it was freezing) while Martin Jacques, the ‘criminal castrati,’ sang Maria at the piano and made half the audience weep. It has to be one of the most beautiful, sad and awful songs ever.

I saw them play in a little community centre in Berkshire and most of the audience left before the interval, they were so disgusted. The Tiger Lillies were sensational!

The Tiger Lillies are iconoclasts whose music often pushes boundaries in the way humour so often can. With song titles such as Bastard, Kick a Baby, Banging in the Nails and Piss on your Grave, not to mention She’s My Sheep and Vagina, the band are not for the easily offended. Sometimes, they are even uncomfortable for the thick-skinned, or those with the most outrageous sense of humour, and they are certainly not for those whose strong religious sensibilities can’t handle a ribaldrous bashing.

Their songs hold nothing – and I mean nothing – back in terms of irreverence, in terms of stretching the audience’s moral limits and expectations. Even I have bottled out and skipped the odd track – especially when kids are in the car and I don’t want them to listen to CancerRapist, or Car Crash (which is about Princess Diana). But these three dudes are nothing if not geniuses.

Staple favourites such as Bully Boys and Crack of Doom are great ways to acclimatise oneself to their idiosyncratic and anarchic opera and their peculiarly dark brand of cabaret. This is postmodern vaudeville, entertaining and ironic, with a twist of mischief, covering all aspects of the nefarious side of modern life.

They do covers, too. Check out their renditions of My Funny Valentine, Send in the Clowns, or – for something more upbeat – YMCA.

The Tiger Lillies play around 300 gigs a year and they have released some 35 albums, from Hamlet, Shockheaded Peter, Farmyard Filth, The Brothel to the Cemetery, Bad Blood and Blasphemy and the haunting, beautiful Urine Palace, complete with The Symphony Orchestra of Norrlandsoperan, so it isn’t too difficult to access their work or catch a live gig.

They are not everyone’s taste, as the emptying hall space will suggest if you go and see them. But if you like their brand of deep sadness and cruel humour and you stay until the end, you’ll be guaranteed a chat with the band afterwards as they sign CDs and memorabilia and mix with their audience. What great guys they are too!

Be prepared for surprises: the raw emotional charge of Martin Jacques’ voice can change in a flash to mischief and mayhem. The music is a joy ride which can quickly become swerving savagery. But The Tiger Lillies are a phenomenon to be enjoyed or avoided, and who ever wanted half measures?

They make me smile. They make me sad and deliriously happy. But above all they are entertaining, a joy, a tonic and a corrosively delicious experience not to be missed. Check them out when they are next in the neighbourhood.

He’s gigging in the UK. Who Roy?

U Roy  is playing dates in London and Falmouth this year and I have tickets.

Live gigs are a thing of beauty: I love mosh pits and dancing until dawn, but a reggae gig is a thing apart. I have been to so many, so often: Misty in Roots, Steel Pulse, John Brown’s Body, UB40, Easy Star All Stars, the wonderful Burning Spear, the Wailers and more. But I have never seen U Roy.

When I told friends I had tickets, the usual replies came: ‘Never heard of them? Who are U Roy?’

He is Ewart Beckford, 73 years old, vocalist, toaster pioneer: he has a melodic voice and a heightened sense of rhythm and tone.

I bought his album when I was a kid and was struck at first by the misogyny of his lyrics in Runaway Girl: even though he protests true love, he urges her to remember that she’s ‘just another girl’. However, I managed to move beyond a few macho lines and embrace the whole performance. But I was thrilled by his vocal tone, his laid back style which, while nonchalant, has its own high energy. He has a persistence, a sense of mischief and then there is the toasting and the rhythm. Listen to Chalice in the Palace and you’ll maybe understand why his vocals are so irresistible.

I love live gigs but there is something about the reggae gig which is special. It is not just the atmosphere of benevolence, peace and love. It so not just that huge kicking bass, which bumps with unbelievable rhythm and regularity and hits you in the chest on every note. It is not even the ethereal atmosphere of happiness.It is the all- encompassing acceptance of live reggae music and the sharing and joy which goes with it. I was at a Misty gig in Brighton not too long ago and there was a woman on her own at the back; she must have been ninety: her body was bent over and her spine was twisted but she was giving it everything, twirling and dancing with a smile on her face like half a melon. That’s a role model for me!

U Roy is playing this Easter and this summer and tickets are less than £20. How much fun can you have for twenty quid? U Roy will be a big pile of pleasure: whether you go to London or Cornwall to see him, you can make a weekend of it, and the gig will be the cherry on the Bakewell! U Roy is totally uplifting: hear his cover of Natty Soul Rebel. You’ll totally get the voice and the toasting. I love the fact that these guys – U Roy, Burning Spear, are still gigging into their seventies and offering audiences rock and rhythm and reggae until the early hours, and still enjoying it and believing in the healing and embracing qualities of their music.

If I haven’t persuaded you yet, then it isn’t for you. But if you’re in any doubt, catch U Roy this time round in London or Falmouth. Totally good for the mind and the body. I’ll be there, dancing down the front with my arms in the air and singing along. Infectious stuff!