Van the Man

Dear Chroniclers,

Van the Man hit the boards of Birmingham's esteemed Symphony Hall last night, watched from aloft by yours truly and dear mrs electrofried. Complementary oxygen masks were supplied with our seats on the Uppermost Circle, which had it been any higher would surely have necessitated entry by helicopter.

Nonetheless, we had an excellent view of proceedings. And this, despite the regular dribble of latecomers whose arrival caused a series of geriatric Mexican waves as seats were duly raised to allow them ingress.

Van took to the stage bang on 8:00, as advertised, and for the next ninety minutes opened up to us his magical world of love, yearning and mysticism. He said barely a word the whole time, his sole utterance being a short aside about George Formby when a recalcitrant roadie brought his mandolin on stage. He didn't need to say anything in truth, for his music said it all.

It is said good wine improves with age, and Van's voice brought forth images of vintage Chateau Latour - rich, red and full-bodied, with subtle hints of seasons past. The hits blended seamlessly with more recent work as the talented ensemble of musicians and vocalists drew us ever further into rheumy reflection.

And then the finale. "Gloria" and in excelsis! A song so familiar, yet still so jubilant. Van the Man sent us roaring to the night as he departed stage left, his ninety minutes done.

John Steinbeck once observed, "... all the sterile wonders of movies and television and radio will fail to wipe it out - a living man in communication with a living audience." And all this, with barely a word exchanged.

yours as ever,

electrofried(mr)