Wales Uber Alles
Date: 27 February 2009
"Events on the rugby field in Paris may well have been - quite frankly- a mess, but for anyone who saw Wales Uber Alles, this time around, they were more than tidy."
Toby Messer
It was near as dammit St. David's Day and Huw Stephens once again sent out the clarion call, throughout the valleys, to rally round the troops for some happening, hip shaking, Welshness. And let's face it when the going gets Taff, the Taff get going.
First up were the lovely Colorama, a jazz, blues-influenced four-piece, whose singer reminded me of Soul Asylum's Dave Piner. There also appeared to be a Byrds influence and 80s jazzers Carmel as well. Much of the music had the twinkling melancholia of a 60s French movie but as the set wore on there was increasing sunshine (which, if you have ever been to Wales is something of a contradiction in terms). For their penultimate number they did an extremely commendable cover of Cher's Baby Please Don't Go. Sadly, it appeared that baby or indeed numerous babies had already gone - no doubt to watch the rugby in the bar, leaving a paltry 70 or souls behind.
But hey, what's this? Cheeky chappy alert in the shape of Sweet Baboo. With the look of an impish schoolboy, Stephen Black could almost have been the bastard grandson of the late great Ivor Cutler, with some fine acoustic picking, complimenting the lyrically daft pictures he was creating. And on one number, in particular, called Too Close to the Hip Bone, which dealt with the tricky situation of getting just a bit too familiar with a lady, with great self-deprecation he told us that like most of his canon it was complete lie. And as the Welsh wag's fun came sadly to its inexorable climax, Stephen - rather messianically - jumped onto a nearby chair. Was he being serious for a moment? No not a bit of it, he was providing someone with a better shot for their mobile.
Next up came Richard James, ex-Mynci and the frontperson of a grunge-tastic (hand-picked) outfit that displayed - by way of an opening number- an unholy alliance between The Mary Chain and the Waterboys. After their cacophonous entry, one wondered whether or not there was going to be more of the same. Well no, not really; we were treated to a rather pleasant, Teenage Fanclub/Turin Breaks style affair and it got people moving and, dare I say, witnessing something that I had never before seen at the ICA: a small gaggle of girls, having eschewed the rather desirable cloakroom facilities (I'm sure you'll agree, a not unreasonable £1 per item), actually shimmying around their handbags.
Things were really beginning to liven up when Sibrydion leapt onto the stage for their first gig outside of Wales (I have a funny feeling it won't be their last). Their first few numbers had a thrash surfer rock groove to them and the relentless melodic pounding of Crazy Horse, followed by some ultra fine banjo picking, a la heavy style Cotton-eyed Joe. Their leader, Meilir Gynedd looked every inch the young pretender to an elderly Jagger and an ear-splitting, strobe-flashing finale brought the house down.
All we needed now was a rousing finale and boyo did we get it. Nine-piece Derwyddon Dr Gonzo bounded on stage. A bear playing the tom-toms, a trumpet-playing miner, stripped to the waist. Captain America on sax and numerous other crazies, funking it up like there was no tomorrow. They were tight, ska fuelled, a bit of Otis here, adrenaline pumping Pink Panther there. Tight and mad in equal measure and the whole theatre erupted as one. Events on the rugby field in Paris may well have been - quite frankly- a mess, but for anyone who saw Wales Uber Alles, this time around, they were more than tidy.
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