Twenty-five years ago I started watching live bands in Bournemouth. One of the first bands I saw was The Spoons – fronted by Lance Riley. Bloody good they were too, they could’ve made it y’know. But sixties-influenced bands were getting nowhere in the eighties, if they’d have released ‘Show Me How’ in the mid-nineties rather than the late eighties it would have undoubtedly topped even the 6,000 copies it managed to sell at the time. Tonight at Mr Kyps Lance was fronting his latest pop combo, Bird Jaguar, still proving his talent as both a singer and songwriter. Now more of a storytelling troubadour (the first of three tonight) than hip-thrusting, floppy-fringed (actually that’s still there) ladykiller, his command of the stage is as good as ever, and seeing this band relatively unplugged and stripped down highlighted again his ability to pen a cracking tune.

Two previous sightings of Bird Jaguar left me quietly interested but not overly excited. The band’s talent was clear to see, but the audience reaction of both occasions was lukewarm at best (band/audience compatibility problem perhaps). These songs are not immediately impactful, this isn’t music that will blow you away by its weight or volume, it needs and deserves to be listened to, to be discovered. Tonight’s stage gave the songs a wonderful setting and they shone through, ‘The Wildflower’ was an early highlight, like many in the set beautifully sung with three or four part harmonies. ‘Turn Back Time’ was particularly poignant with those early days in mind, “The Triangle turns to its Third Side, I can remember turn back time.” Bird Jaguar play harmonious, melodic and wonderfully crafted folk-pop; I wouldn’t say I was captivated from start to finish, but it left me with a warm, happy glow knowing that twenty-five years on I’m still a fan of Lance’s music.

Compared to The Spoons I first watched Jinder in the very recent past, about five years ago if I remember rightly. On that occasion he blew me away, playing solo on a large stage in the distance his voice boomed out across the audience and hit me like a bolt between the eyes, leaving my gob well and truly smacked. It’s been quite a voyage for Jinder since that day, releasing a couple of solo albums before dabbling with major labels and the big time with The Mercurymen. Having been a big fan of Jinder’s solo years, less so of his Sony output, the selfish side of me is happy to see him back playing solo. I’ve yet to hear his latest album 9 Cents From Benelux in its entirety, but most of its songs are familiar to me from past or recent performances, and I eagerly awaited tonight’s performance.

Jinder’s vocal talents are simply unquestionable. From the first note it poured out power and emotion; just like that first time it hit me between the eyes. As a songwriter Jinder is easy to like; uncomplicated stories, needing no explanation or second/third listen to understand their meaning. His songs are heartfelt and thoughtful, packed full of tales of heartbreak and lost loves, cheap wine and hard times, largely written with a lonely or heavy heart. As a lyricist The Mercurymen seemed to take Jinder nearer the middle of the road than the litter-ridden curbs he trod before (those are both exaggerations, Jinder has always been walking through fields). As much admiration as I have for Jinder as a performer, tonight’s show left me largely unmoved for the simple reason that his stories (for the most part) failed to captivate or move me; too many cliché phrases, too much soppy sentimentality. But, jeez… I could listen to that voice all night.

I’m sure Lance Riley mentioned his love of Jackie Leven to me many years ago, having shared the stage with him whilst with The Bewley Brothers. Indeed, both singers share the same vocal dexterity, wonderfully accentuating individual words or phrases to enhance their meaning. Tonight was my second helping of Mr Leven, having first seen him sat on the same stage a couple of years previously. From that night I remember him to be both a quality performer and a raconteur extraordinaire, heavy on the profanities. Tonight he appeared more relaxed, his stories were still loaded with scathing and barbed humour, but this was less aggressive than before. This certainly made it more comfortable to watch, though not necessarily making it any better. His ability to set up a song by narrating a tale about its origin is unrivalled. Quite simply Jackie Leven is a master storyteller, be they in a song or simply spoken, his command of the audience (you could have heard a pin drop for the hour he was on stage) would only be such if his words were worthy of such complete attention.

Jackie sits wonderfully comfortably on stage, reminding me (comedically) of Dave Allen, vocally reminiscent of Johnny Cash and on occasions growling like Van Morrison. Watching him is like reading a fantastic storybook – the sort that you just can’t put down – he draws you in with little fuss and keeps you hooked, spellbound. Standing In Another Man’s Rain was a highlight, ending with a gentle twenty second outro of ‘Here Comes The Sun’. Joined for the second half of his set by Debbie Greenwood (pictured above), her husky and soulful timbre contrasted with and worked perfectly alongside Jackie’s. His superb guitar playing appeared equally effortless, in fact it’s difficult to find anything negative to say about tonight’s performance. Maybe the one hour just wasn’t enough.

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