thu 28/03/2024

Paul Heaton, Koko | reviews, news & interviews

Paul Heaton, Koko

Paul Heaton, Koko

Humberside miserabilist delivers evening of good-time music

After a couple of false starts, former Beautiful South frontman Paul Heaton’s last solo album finally received the high critical praise of the old days. But at 49 you can’t imagine him really caring too much about anyone else’s approval. This is the ex-alcoholic, after all, whose last tour was conducted by bicycle around the pubs of the North of England, who unashamedly told the world he was once a football hooligan, and who once set up a community bike park in Hull. When they made Heaton, they sure as hell broke the mould.

Stylistically, Acid Country, the new(ish) album, finally echoes much of the work that Heaton did with The Beautiful South. This was good news for fans of those 20 years of Heaton’s career in the crowd, because it was the nearest they were going to get to those inimitable satires on class, country and kitchen-sink politics. Heaton may list falconry as one of his hobbies, but he’s a full time perverse old buzzard, and he’s clearly determined not to live by his former glories. His set was largely split between the new album, the last album, and various examples from his very first incarnation in the Housemartins.

There’s often been something of the club, cabaret or party about Heaton’s music. That was mainly the mood last night. The crowd comprised maninly diehard Heaton fans. And for an hour and a half we got all that trademark honey-and-mustard voice, those bright tunes, that irreverent banter and those witty bittersweet lyrics.

It all started rather shambolically, though, with the PA system only half on for the duration of “Mitch”, an obscure number from his short-lived Biscuit Boy incarnation, and “The Balcony”, which, from where I was standing, sounded like it was being played by a band in a marquee a hundred yards away. But nobody seemed slightly put off. It was as if we were all at a family gathering, and that it was a given that everything was going to be great. The sound was soon mended, the shellsuit-clad Heaton put on his glasses to flick through his song book (being in his band on this tour is going to be very demanding) and we were into “The Old Radio”, which actually sounds very much like The Beautiful South. Damn right everything was going to be great. At the back of the stalls couples were dancing half-drunk. There was swaying on the balcony. Suddenly it was a boisterous party, with Heaton at the helm.

The way he addressed the crowd also gave a clue to his enduring appeal. You get the impression Heaton likes to play up to being the hard-drinking socialist with a chip on his shoulder but every smile and every other sentence betrayed the man responsible for all those beautifully observed and politically aware lyrics. There may have been plenty of jokes about royals and riots, and even more directed at himself and it was all very good natured, and not unexpected, but what was perhaps less predictable was a rather brilliant five-minute invective/poem about scumbags, broccoli and joggers.

Watch The Housemartins perform "Caravan of Love" on Top of the Pops, below


Much of the set followed a well-established Heaton up-tempo sound. And of these upbeat numbers the highlights were “Welcome to the South”, “God Bless Texas”, and a now familiar cover of The Clash’s “White Man in Hammersmith Palais”. The band, comprising Jonny Wright on bass, Jonny Lexus on guitar and Pete Marshall on drums, contrasted with the main man sartorially, being dressed in razor-sharp Fifties suits. Heaton had alluded to them on BBC Breakfast news last week. With a mischievous smile he said that they were young and quite fancied doing some of the old Housemartins numbers. Maybe if the viewers had dreamed that that might have included “Caravan of Love” they would have filled that missing third of the venue. But it did, a note-perfect version, taking anyone old enough to remember, which was almost everyone, straight back to the 1986 a capella Top of the Pops appearance (see video above).

Even after the sound system was fixed it wasn’t easy to make out everything being sung. But even through the echoey sound during “Everything is Everything” I could make out Heaton singing about “butchers selling pantyhose”, which underscored how unique and lively his brand of social commentary is. But it wasn’t all party. At times we saw another shade to his palette, such as the world-wearied, lived-in crooner who sang us “Life of a Cat”, and the folkie who ended the evening with “Poems”. It suited him well. We may never hear words like ethereal or otherworldly used to describe Heaton’s world, but he wasn’t just here to be a funny miserabilist who knows how to turn out a fine tune. When he wanted to, he packed an emotional punch too.

Heaton has done well to get out of the fame game when he has. It's giving him the chance to fulfil talents that lie beyond the charts. And dare I say it, I think it might be making him happy.

Watch video of Paul Heaton being interviewed by Absolute Radio at last year's Latitude


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