If The Futureheads had got their heads together before tonight’s Japanese Tsunami Relief Benefit show and attempted to sketch out the ideal set of circumstances in which to extract optimum charitable goodwill, they would probably have struggled to come up with a better scenario than that which we actually encounter tonight. The seemingly endless supply of bank holidays stretched languidly in front of us has dovetailed beautifully with the unexpected delight of the first proper sunshine of the year, making Ouseburn Valley a pretty fucking happy place. Throw in a stellar supporting cast of some of the North East’s finest musicians, and you’ve got practically the perfect recipe to tease hands into pockets. Because we’ve got five sets to accommodate tonight, the running order is squeezed about as tightly as can be, and it commences with Michael Littlefield who steps onstage in front of basically no-one, although thankfully a smattering of people drizzle in as his set progresses. Littlefield unassumingly informs us that he plans to play some Blues songs, which turn out to be absolutely immaculately observed. If his renditions of the likes of Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters seem just a little like hero-worship, then it’s forgivable because his voice is so authentic and his guitar work so accomplished.
Littlefield is followed by The Lake Poets, aka Martin Longstaff, a (mostly) solo artist who is currently doing a pretty decent job of hauling himself up the North East gigging hierarchy. These days it’s treacherously easy for acoustic singer-songwriters to tumble irredeemably into the ever-expanding sea of non-descript one-man/woman projects who forget to write actual songs, but so far Longstaff’s work has kept him a safe distance from the ocean of drips. The combination of his timorous, vulnerable vocal and his gently soaring songs, the scale of which become more apparent when he is joined late in the set by his backing band, illustrate pretty succinctly just why his popularity is increasing so steadily.
Speaking of growing repute, Grandfather Birds aren’t doing too badly on that front either, now that their grizzled charm is spawning impressive singles and propelling them around the country. They’re up against it a little tonight, because the malfunctioning microphone demons that occasionally tease Littlefield and The Lake Poets decide they’re going to well and truly bully Grandfather Birds, which isn’t really fair because their poor old singer is already battling a sore throat as it is. In spite of the fates’ concerted efforts to throw them off course, though, they’re brilliant, overcoming the odds triumphantly with a collection of intricately-fabricated songs, tinged with the odd intriguing splash of darkness.
The final support act of the evening is billed simply as Adam James Cooper, but, as Cooper himself acknowledges, that’s a bit of a disservice to the six other musicians who join him on stage, because we’re not talking about a solo artist with interchangeable backing musos here, this feels like a proper band in the fullest sense of the word. Their raucous, booze-soaked pub-folk is the nicest surprise of the night. It’s absolutely infectious, and it augments the already boisterous air of good cheer which pervades the Cluny.
By the time The Futureheads make their way out, the venue is, unsurprisingly (and gratifyingly) rammed. It was always going to be, of course, because the band have been selling out much bigger rooms than the Cluny for years, so it’s a pretty special feeling to have them back in the best small venue in the North East of England. It’s not just the Cluny that makes their appearance feel like a one-off though, it’s also the fact that tonight is a departure from your traditional breakneck Futureheads rock show, it’s a gig which sees them discard all instrumentation save for Barry’s acoustic guitar, meaning that Jaff, Ross and Dave find themselves exclusively on vocal duties. It’s clearly an alien position for them to be in, but the act of casting aside the fetters of traditional instrumental structures brings the band’s interplay (always a hugely endearing feature of their gigs) even more tangibly to the surface. Tonight’s set up lends itself to banter, and after a decade together, The Futureheads are masters of the art.
The set list is as relaxed as the chatter, meandering aimlessly through all four records, and including a pleasantly surprising outing for ‘Thursday’, a riotous singalong encore of ‘Heartbeat Song’ and the traditional crowd-war japes of ‘Hounds of Love’. There’s also room for more outlandish propositions too, like ‘The Keeper’, a 17th Century hunting song (which is at odds with the band’s 50% veggie population), and traditional drinking song ‘The Old Dun Cow’, which features a creditable shouting and stamping cameo from the entire crowd. It’s all enormously fun stuff which, in a strange way reminds us of why this gig is being put on in the first place. Because, in spite of the obvious solemnity of the cause, tonight is a life-affirming celebration of the power of music to be able to do something wonderful – no matter how small in the scale of Japan’s devastation – to help people.
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