THE SHOW(MEN) MUST GO ON
A Prog writer is holding out for a new hero.
It was getting late in Chepstow and Frost*, Saturday’s billed headliners at The Summer’s End Festival, opted to fill the early evening slot, leaving the finale to the lesser-known ensemble, the Franck Carducci Band.
What unfolded was a spectacle seldom seen at the much-loved festival – a proper, good old-fashioned rock’n’roll variety show. There was humour, intrigue, excitement, a sexy dancing girl and, above all, in a multi-hued hat, Carducci: a true super trouper.
Sadly, sets like these now seem to be an increasing rarity, which got me wondering: where has that almost extinct species, the prog showman/woman, gone?
Once upon a time in prog, there was Arthur Brown in his hellfire helmet, Keith Emerson committing hara-kiri on his Hammond, Rick Wakeman resplendent in his glitterball capes,
Ian Anderson in his infamous codpiece and, of course, Peter Gabriel in his flowers and frocks. Plus the many facets of that eternal chameleon Brian Pern!
Nowadays, you have to think long and hard about where our current prog peacocks lie. Nad Sylvan’s no stranger to theatrical flourishes and extravagant Beau Brummell threads, while Big Big Train’s David Longdon is totally folklore in his Green Man mask. Damian Wilson’s career has taken in the West End and Joe Payne made some inroads in that direction while fronting The Enid.
Prog bands now tend to use technology and art, including films, images and animations, to fill the gaps while the vocalist’s job is to interpret it all. Audiences may marvel at their technical brilliance but where’s that important touch of razzmatazz connecting the music and the audience?
That’s where Carducci and his merry band fill the gaping void. Prog is all about dazzling, colourful storytelling, not necessarily featuring unicorns and hobbits, as we’ve all grown up a bit since then. Carducci’s got the right idea, as his act does include a rather raunchy new telling of a traditional children’s story (but it’s all done in the best possible taste and with a huge Cheshire cat grin!).
Some of us still crave this kind of entertainment as the delighted Summer’s End audience would certainly testify. The trick now is to try and coax some of our shy retiring prog musos out from behind their banks of keyboards to embrace the roar of greasepaint and smell of the crowd! Who knows? They might even grow to like it!
ALISON REIJMAN
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