Thoughts About George Ezra at Trowbridge’s Civic

Yes, I did, thank you; and what a brilliant show it was last night when George Ezra came to Trowbridge!

Consider the punks, who spat at conformity, consumerism and society’s esteem of pop culture, are now near, if not pension age, when digestating the derisions and jeers from a few when I told them “I’m going to see George Ezra.” Marketed commercialisation, yeah, I get that; if for the pre-gig meal we frequented the golden arches, I was more than disappointed my “Italian Stack” was just a cheeseburger with rocket salad and pesto sauce. I mean, who puts a pasta sauce on a burger, adding insult to injury what with the broken milk shake machine, my only guilty pleasure from Ronald?

For them though, I bid they take heed of my anecdote more than those who attended George Ezra at Trowbridge’s Civic Centre yesterday, which, like many of my yarns, begins with me spending a penny. Upon my return to the hall, in which we were instructed in this record-breaking heatwave to “squeeze in as tight as possible,” a few had gathered behind my teenage girl posse. With my customary irony I nudged in front, “make way, responsible adult coming through!” only to note I’d obscured the view of a young girl behind me.

The expression of anticipation at seeing George Ezra drained from her face, unacknowledging now she’d only see the back of a podgy middle-aged parent in a Batman t-shirt. But before she could completely well-up, I promised to stand aside as soon as he came on stage, but if I moved now someone not so willing might push in. Though she doubted my conviction, I did retreat from my position, her parents expressed their gratitude. The space my belly once occupied ample for her to sing and dance her heart out, which she did, and her expression of sheer joy made my night.

Because, while George and his band may’ve only blasted a job-and-finish half-hour set at us, damn it the guy puts some umph in. Honestly, he’s like the geek of a Saturday supermarket job who really puts his all into shelf-staking. Professionally executing the placid and sincere pop star persona, the guy convinced me he’s the genuine article, finding time to box-in his every known popular tune. Sure, playing through his new album The Gold Rush Kid, was a pointless marketing exercise, being the ticket price included a copy of it, but there was everything there you’d expect from an upcoming musician and none of the bravado of celebrity; passion, drive, and even some narrative of backstory.

But for his best efforts, I owe it to the little girl in front of me, and every other screaming teenager or child, to express what a superb evening it was, her mien said it all. For it was never about anti-corporatism critics, rather the rare opportunity for youths to see a popstar in the flesh, in Trowbridge, which would otherwise cost the parents something quite unaffordable in tickets and travel costs.

Doubtless this was The Civic’s finest half-hour, though structured without encore, for less than a purple one, we got our money’s worth in George and his band’s dynamic performance; worth the hassle of fastest-finger first ticket booking system, which sold out in seconds of going online, queuing in the heat only to be squashed in like sardines, but perhaps not the no drinks policy profiteering attitude, which saw the bar closed and only bottled water they sold allowed. Maybe laws have changed without my knowledge, but I assumed not providing free drinking water was unlawful, and even if not, it’s safety and basic etiquette poorly overlooked by The Civic.

Yet we owe it to Marlborough’s music shop, Sound Knowledge for this most excellent show. Must be best part of quarter-of-a-century Roger has been the best purveyor of records around these backwaters, and stayed afloat through this technology-changing era by hosting these fantastic album marketing gigs. Usually based in the shop itself or in the club opposite, it’s bought many an upcoming act to Marlborough, including Ezra in 2014. The only other time a band has been too big to fit in was when they shifted Rag’N’Bone Man to the College campus, but George was too bigger name, even for this venue, causing the organisers to add a matinee at the Civic.

But usually, there’s a post-gig meet-and-greet opportunity, something though we took our CDs we had to accept would’ve sadly been unviable due to the vast number of attendees. And that, in a nutshell, whitewashes any niggly criticisms, because maybe restrictions have to be set in order to pull off an event of this magnitude, perhaps you do have to shout orders at the crowd and search children’s bags in this day and age. Even though this isn’t what I’m used to, I was happy in the knowledge that for many there, this was not just a golden opportunity, but a first-time concert which will live in their memories forever.

It got me thinking of my first ever gig, about the same age as my daughter and her friends now. To set the bar high, it was Bruce Springsteen, and, George, sorry mate, but through rose-tinted specs, while you weren’t quite that good, you were totally amazing. Proof of this goes along the lines of me mumbling the words to Shotgun all day today, the profound effect is unimaginable for those younger, if it got this grumpy old git inspired!               


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