A sublime evening with Gil Scott-Heron

Gil Scott-Heron has entered the musical consciousness of 2010 with the release of his comeback LP ‘I’m new here’.He entered mine as a young boy of 10 years when my parents played his records on that beloved turntable that span at 33rpm.

Later on I would discover that not many artists can match the bohemian existence, intrigue and poignancy of Gil’s life: a torch-bearer in the spoken word movement; a prominent student activist in the American civil rights movement; late night jazz romps with the infamous amnesia express, and; wordsmith behind the iconic ‘the revolution will not be televised’, a list whilst impressive still only offers a mere smattering of the trials and tribulations of Gil Scott-Heron.

We now turn 11 years on from my fledgling musical recollections to Brixton Academy on a sombre, misty and cold evening in South West London, an evening that encompasses not just a gig but a reincarnation of sorts. ‘I’m new here’ is somewhat complicated by the protagonist’s personal history, 16 years since the last pensive and dark LP entitled ‘Spirits’, a period in which Gil went AWOL, reappeared and disappeared once again before being imprisoned for drug possession. For followers of Gil, these 16 years remained a colourful time if not a prolific period of creativity, with countless cancelled live outings and no-shows; Gil always seems to keep everyone on their toes.

This evening, thankfully Gil is present and correct, arriving to a stage laid bare with minimal arrangements and a rapturous welcome from an eclectic demographic of eagerly-awaiting participants; greeting the crowd affectionately with light-hearted and hilarious musings, remarking warmheartedly that he was ‘no stick in the mud’ aiming to look ‘intellectually involved’ in the spoken word, but simply that the crowd had collective responsibility to enjoy ourselves, as he was sure to do.

As in voice, Gil Scott-Heron is striking in appearance: a wise head sits commandingly on a lanky frame, a gentle smile that exposes battered and decayed teeth, brown pants pulled high, pale yellow and broad padded jacket draping low and a grey scruffy fisherman’s hat enclosing the tips of an illustrious silver-tinged beard. Despite his frame and now entering his 62nd year, Gil moves nimbly around the stage, alternating between keyboard and circular strolls of the stage, feeding of the hypnotic jazz enthused percussion, sax and harmonica of his slick and tight backing band.

Gil begins his set by remarking wryly that for those in the crowd who thought he could not play the piano, ‘you were right’, much to the amusement of the enthusiastic and attentive crowd. He then talks poetically about the battle of the seasons before subtly morphing into the melancholy ‘Winter in America’. Only the bluesy lament of ‘I’ll take care of you’ features from ‘I’m new here’, a track in keeping with the atmosphere of the evening, where Gil ranged from screaming with anguish, as during ‘Work for Peace’ where he cried through his throaty baritone ‘I don’t want hurt nobody’ to peacefully conveying ‘Your daddy loves you’ in a gentle reverb.

Seemingly transfixed during the saxophonist’s regular elegant interjections, Gil slowly rocked back on his keyboard stool; head, beard and fisherman’s hat swaying in the smoke. He is a blues purist, obsessed with Coltrane et al. and his evident appreciation of his band’s contributions reveals a youthful love of music that still burns brightly. Gil’s voice is coarse in moments, grainy and harsh, a far cry from the lush, soulful and distinctive voice of the 70s but it does not cause you to wince or flinch; instead this broken voice adds depth and pain to the cry of ‘to turn your sick soul inside out, so that the world can watch you die’ making for an emotionally intense experience.

The evening is not solely about the longing, hurt and loss embodied in the blues but instead a musical journey traversing jazz, African rhythms and soul with Gil contrasting the rawness of his singing to jovial commentaries in between songs, making for an absorbing and enjoyable gig. Culminating in arguably his magnus opus ‘the bottle’, which breaks this evening for a 10 minute congo drum solo of epic proportions, Gil rounds off a career-spanning set to a dedicated crowd who sincerely hope that it will not be another 16 years before we see Gil Scott-Heron in the flesh again, for Mr Scott-Heron did promise to bring better weather with him next time.