IF YOU DISCARD a smoking cigarette butt into a heap of bone dry tinder, you shouldn’t be surprised when it bursts into flames and consumes the whole forest. And that’s pretty much how Trischka, Grier and Mitterhoff found themselves playing in a working men’s club in down-town Whitworth. I should be more careful how I chuck my fag ends away...

It was the Seminole Rover Crew - the older guys of the 5th Lancashire FSE Scout Group - that approached me. They wanted to put on a ‘folk night’ to raise funds for their ‘The Van’s The Plan’ campaign. But the idea of a ‘folk night’ put me off. The Crew had done all that before: Bernard Wrigley, The Oldham Tinkers, Mike Harding - they’ve had them all, over the years. All I said, was “why not be a tad more ambitious?” During the ensuing week, I made a few phone calls and discovered that TG&M were in the country, that they had a free evening and that - logistical nightmares aside - it was possible to get them on in the North West.

Rank Strangers open the concert

Bill Hyde, Steve Read, Ian Reynolds, Dave Pope & Bonz Barnes

Needless to say, The Crew had never heard of T or G or M. It didn’t matter: the bone dry tinder didn’t care if the spark came from a Benson’s butt or an Embassy. It burst into flames regardless.

We had less than a month to get the show together. The Crew got organised. Someone volunteered to control ticket sales, someone else the catering. Big Ashy offered to collect the guys from Stow-on-the-Wold, bring them to Whitworth and return them afterwards. Carl suggested they perform the ‘Window Cleaner’ sketch. Within an hour, we had a strategy and an objective: to put on a first rate show that was top quality, well run and excellent value for money. Not to mention the fact we aimed to raise £500 for the van...

Let’s just say that it wasn’t easy. Things went wrong, and when it was announced that Manchester United’s European Cup semi with Juventus was to be on our night, we knew our £500 was in the balance rather than on the balance sheet. But it was too late to change... I won’t bore you with the ebb and flow of events that followed, but with each day that passed, more hours vanished into the void that was ‘the gig’.

Cover Photo: Trischka, Mitterhoff & Grier
Photo by D.Brandon copyright © NWBN

When I took the stage with Dave Pope, Bonz, Bill Hyde and Steve Read; we’d had one rehearsal and no sound check. And TG&M were just turning onto the M62. Who knows what we sounded like, our rag tag collection of session chums, but the audience seemed enthusiastic. Hope you enjoyed it. Oh, Dave and Bonz, thanks for loaning the Rank Strangers name... Rank Strangers web site

With The Rocky Mountain Ploughboys recording their debut CD the following day, Dave took-off as soon as we finished. He’s not much of a ‘watcher’, Dave; but he missed something that was truly extraordinary. Thanks to Big Ashy, I can tell you that the guys spent the trip up to Whitworth working out a two hour set. Tony was aware of the fact that, without a vocalist, the pace of the concert and the choice of material had to be considered very carefully. He was worried about the audience dozing off...

He needn’t have. As they stood in the bar after enduring their Lancashire Life photo shoot, one or the other was asking constantly “how does that go again?” I thought, “God, they’re human...”

Tony, David and Barry enjoyed themselves - and it showed!
Photo by D.Brandon copyright © NWBN

They used to say of Blackley, where I live, that a pig with a red rosette would get in above a Tory any time; and in truth, they could have played My Grandfather’s Clock for an hour and captivated the audience. Instead, they took risks. David Grier, uncorked, is an awesome spectacle. He is nothing like the unlikely geezer with the silly ginger fringes that adorns the cover of Panorama. You’d buy that guy a cardi for Christmas. But not this one. He’s shaved his head, added a baseball cap and a healthy dose of ‘attitude’.

I’ve never felt it myself, but musicians with genuine virtuosity tell me that there comes a point in a good performance when they suddenly feel ‘empowered’. ‘Good’ turns to ‘great’, like water into wine. All at once, they are in complete control. You could see it happening to Grier. It was as if his guitar became an appendage of his body. He scratched it, stroked it, pinched it, scrubbed it. The diversity in tone and in complexion that he achieved was baffling, as if he’d somehow changed instrument in the middle of a piece. If there’d have been a guitarist at The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party’, it would have been David Grier.

His dexterity is amazing. We get used to pyrotechnic playing in blue grass circles, but this was something else. He’d switch from mellow, mid range jazz licks to brutal, toppy bluegrass runs with ludicrous ease. Even at dazzling pace he imbues his music with colour and contrast that are strangers to many of his contemporaries.

The opening few pieces built towards a crescendo of intensity. This was demanding music, and the audience strained to appreciate every subtle nuance. A sequence of solo party-pieces followed, at the end of which no-one could have been in any doubt that three masters were performing. And all three of them turned ‘good’ into ‘great’. Mitterhoff, hunched like Woody Allen over his crooning mandolin; wanton Grier in overdrive. Then Trischka changed the mood completely with his medley of Beatles tunes. The audience were encourages to sing along, and the intensity evaporated.

Tony and Barry play off
Photo by D.Brandon copyright © NWBN

But that’s not to say that the fire was out. Back as a trio again, the guys became a band. A rich seam of banter was discovered and they mined it for all it was worth. If the earlier part of the concert had been received in respectful silence, the crowd picked up on the changing mood and ‘the craic’ started. On stage, the guys relaxed and entertained. I lost track of time. I didn’t want it to end. And I won’t forget, ever, the night when we got three super-stellar musicians all to ourselves.

The lads didn’t make their £500. But they know that they could have, and should have. But it hardly mattered. They made a few bob, and they’d pulled something off that spoke more eloquently of their noble objectives - adventure, daring, fairness and honesty - than words ever could. Although, when Big Ashy finally rolled back to Blackley, at 6.30 the next morning, he had a word of his own: ‘I’m knackered’ was all he said.

I’ve got a word of my own, too; if you’ll indulge me. ‘Thanks’: to Eric P., Dave Bres, Bev (beyond compère); Bryn, Derek B.; Dave P, Bonz, Bill and Steve. And everyone who supported us. Hope you enjoyed it.

| Write to Ian Reynolds | David Grier's web site|

1st May 1999