MICHAEL Head has packed a lot of living into his 63 years, and has more than earned the right to enjoy his very slow in-coming popularity. While the voice may be a shade less than before, the body seemed more than willing. Head was clearly loving being on tour.
No longer a loaded man (having also overcome heroin addiction twice), a sober Head is now a safer proposition live than he was in the past (when liquid lunches didn’t sit well with knock-out performances).
The 18-tune set at the sold-out Crescent featured his May 2024 album Loophole prominently. Ciao, Ciao Bambino was the pick of the new tunes and is also the title for Head’s autobiography (slated for release next August). Described by another reviewer as “Toxteth Tijuana”, Martin Smith’s different brass instruments were refreshingly to the fore.
Loophole is receiving both critical praise and has gone Top Ten. Rightly so. While it may not be a Christmas party banger, it is a record that repays multiple listens. The four-piece Red Elastic Band re-create the album with subtle backing that is full of interesting touches.
Opening act Paul Molloy needed (nor received) any introduction for his tuneful conspiracies. The singer and guitarist for that other Liverpool/Wirral institution, The Coral, has a voice that was seemingly minted on the West Coast in the late 1960s.
Like Dylan or P.F. Sloane, Molloy’s voice has a certain quality that lifts anything. Dungaree Day was far better than its title, although his Arlo Guthrie-like tune Artificial Intelligence felt a bit laboured. The closing duet with Fiona Skelly was harmony heaven.
Head has always worn his Laurel Canyon influences proudly. “This one is for the believers,” he said as he introduced Comedy. This tune in some ways mirrors Head’s fortunes: written as his first band The Pale Fountains were splitting, it resurfaced on Shack’s over-produced HMS Fable (the unstable 1999 album that quickly sank).
Add a quarter of a century more perspective, however, and Comedy is now rightly held up as one of the finest jewels in Head’s career. More conker than diamond perhaps, since his unshowy songs have their own internal glow.
The best cast a blissed-out spell. Somethin’ Like You, from The Magical World Of The Strands, to this reviewer as good as anything by Burt Bacharach, was rather underwhelming live.
More effective in person were the comparatively up-tempo closing numbers, Pretty Child and Meant To Be. They finished, as is their habit, with a rousing A House Is Not A Motel by the Californian band Love before heading back to Liverpool to finish the tour on home turf.
Review by Paul Rhodes
