Self-appointed “Morose” Mark Harrison was once again on totally top form at Komedia last Sunday entertaining us with his style of stunning blues music, engaging history lessons and highly amusing cynical views on society. Lest I appear to be painting Mark in a poor light you may rest assured his easy delivery is gentle on the ears, but delivered with killer punch lines. A thoroughly winning combination. Albeit lacking hotpants which was the sole difference between Mark and Elton John back in the day it seems …
Amongst the recipients of his wit and repartee, and his sublime ex Eric Bibb 1934 National Trojan resonator delivered music, were Ralph McTell, I.T. Analysts (I hid at that juncture!), Eric Clapton, prodigal sons and daughters, a heckler, the services’ economy ( a bunch of flats in London…), schmaltzy songs and twats’ anthems, “My Way”, and his cousin Colin. We were regaled with the history of the two artists formerly known as “Sonny Boy Williamson” – the original aka John Lee Curtis Williamson whose successes in the 30s and 40s were piggy backed by Rice Miller who appropriated the same performance name to hoodwink audiences and record labels. And of Howling Wolf who was years before his time in offering his band members what we would now regard as standard employment benefits such as health insurance.
But in case this sounds like Mark is just a Jack Dee wannabe, it should be emphasised we were here for his music and he was there to deliver it – with style and panache and not without a bit… well a lot… of dry humour. A cover or two, but predominantly – naturally – his own stuff… haunting, engaging, even breath-taking.
The afternoon rushed past – two hours with a twenty minute break; just one Midlander and a 1934 National Trojan resonator, in a bar in Bath. And thankfully no hotpants.
Perfection.
Mark Harrison’s gig list is here, and his merch is available here.
Last summer I was lucky enough to see Mark Harrison play at the “Tangled Roots” festival over Radstock way (highly recommended that is too, for a laid back weekend of camping, workshops, and americana/roots music!). So when I saw him appearing on a Sunday night card at the Queens Head, Box it was too good an opportunity to miss.
It was my first visit to the venue which clearly sets itself up as a genuine music venue with its dedicated performance room, aided and abetted by “Schtumm” the promoter of music events here; a good space reminiscent of “The Tree House” at Frome, “The Pump” at Trowbridge and nostalgically “The Fold” in Devizes.. A quick word here too for the pub – a free house offering last night St. Austell ales. Most acceptable.
Mark – a.k.a by his blues monicker “Morose” Mark Harrison – has a relaxed, laconic persona with a lightly cynical view of life. Right up my street. His music is loosely “blues” – though he himself says “but it’s not stuck in the past. I’m tapping into the timeless quality of the early blues to produce music totally relevant to the present day.” Mark plays a 1934 National Trojan resonator guitar, previously owned by Eric Bibb, and he uses a finger plucking style rather than strummed chords.
It was a bijou, intimate crowd at the Queens Head – which as the other act of the night, Jinder, jokingly opined just means “small room, small crowd”. Well, how lucky were WE at such a bijou, intimate gig? Mark played a 75 minute set which might have been 80+ minutes had he not forgotten how one of his own songs started 😊; I’ll cut him some slack… he has another 98 he can remember to choose from after all… Mark’s lyrics are not so much about his own life – “I don’t want to hear about my life, I have to bloody live it” (or words to that effect!) – but about his view on society and the changes he has seen in it in his lifetime. He grew up in Coventry surrounded by car manufacturing, went away for a weekend and on his return the car factories had been replaced by garden centres. People that did real jobs replaced by Marketing Consultants. People with … irritating haircuts… Real activities replaced by twitter – oh sorry Mr. Musk… “X”. In this vein his numbers “The Wild West”, “The Great Stink” and “Toolmaker’s Blues” encapsulate this exasperation and incredulity.
This is not a political standpoint though, to be clear. Just a reflection of one man’s interpretation of a few decades through the medium of blues influenced music. Songs are interspersed with humorous and/or pointed stories and anecdotes. Often with a pithy, short epithet at those responsible for society’s ills…
Mark’s songs are in many ways stories in themselves, drawing you in with clever lyrics and the haunting finger plucking – simple stuff but (lest this sound damning with faint praise) so skillful yet easy on the ear. Its not until you start watching his fingers dance over the strings you see how there are two patterns going on simultaneously by his thumb and index finger, using the strings as two separate areas while his left hand works the frets on the higher strings.
All too soon the show was over. Eleven songs, eleven chats. A view of life and death in Bognor, the tribulations of late night driving and route diversions, social history… covid and lockdown as a metaphor for 21st century life.
He also has a phenomenal memory; whilst chatting to him after the gig and buying his latest album he asked me if I’d met him also at “Tangled Roots” last June! I can’t remember what I had to eat this morning!
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