C:LIVE COLLECTIVE
VENUE water rats, london DATE 22/11/2018 SUPPORT mellotronanism
Some pretty ugly characters have inhabited prog’s more ambitious moments. Think of roger Waters’ tormented, abusive Pink from The Wall, or Marillion’s deadbeat alcoholic Torch, the subject of Clutching At Straws. To that list you can add the voice of Clive Mitten’s The Fifth estate, a nasty piece of work who bemoans the demise of the empire, wishes Britain was white, and misses the days when women couldn’t vote. Such is the unpleasantness of this fellow that Mitten feels compelled to offer a disclaimer before his set begins, earnestly explaining that he only agrees with 20% of what his protagonist says.
It’s a peculiar show. Only a third of opening act Mellotronanism have shown up, in the shape of ed Percival, formerly of east Anglian proggers Airbridge. Armed only with an acoustic guitar and a laptop that provides subtle orchestral grounding, he’s engaging, and sings ragged versions of songs that would clearly benefit from the presence of more musicians. Shoestring prog, he calls it. He also has a song called either Boris Johnson You’re A Cunt or Jacob rees Mogg You’re A Cunt, depending on which announcement you believe.
Back to the Clive Mitten and the C:Live Collective (dreadful name). When The Age of Insanity was released back in March, the fourpart concept The Fifth estate was largely instrumental. Now it has a vitriol-filled narration, the sharp end of its barbs dulled by the fact that they’re rather buried in the mix and are being read from an iPad. Drummer Fudge Smith and guitarists Mark Spencer and Dave Donley come and go as the music demands, and it all feels a bit disjointed, only coming alive during Part 3, which kicks off as a four-to-the-floor disco banger before lurching sideways into darkly sinister commentary about trolling on the internet and ending with a seemingly sincere tribute to murdered MP Jo Cox. Some of it’s unintentionally funny, as when Mitten asks, “Where is the next Martin Luther King? The next Nelson Mandela? The next rosa Parks?” and peers hopefully around the room.
The highlights come as the set climaxes. A reworking of Twelfth Night’s This City replaces the original’s widescreen atmospherics with low-slung, skanking funk. It sounds like an enormous hit single, albeit one from another decade – David Bowie does Frankie goes To Hollywood, perhaps – and features a soaring vocal from Spencer. And then there’s The Ceiling Speaks, which has also been painted anew, but not so much that the small crowd can’t bellow along with the chorus.