I went to see Marianne Faithfull the other night at London’s Barbican Hall. Now, if you are at all a fan of this 60’s chanteuse I would look away now because this is definitely not going to be an appreciation of her. I have to say that I was far more taken by a member of her band, the willowy rangy-legged 6ft tall Kate St. John. More of her in a bit.
But back to Marianne. In the UK we have a chain of stores called Primark. They sell highly disposable clothes that are allegedly made in south east Asia by children in sweat shops. You can buy a two piece track suit for around 6 pounds (about $10.00). It was one of these that Marianne was apparently sporting on stage. Not only that, but it appeared that she had actually been sleeping in it too throughout her tour.
I was most struck by her slovenly “I-couldn’t-give-a-shit” attitude throughout the evening. After her second number, she reached for a Kleenex in a box on a nearby table. (I was wondering what they were for). She cleared her throat and spat up some phlegm advising the audience; “I’ve smoked my fucking brains out, and I am so fucking frightened of a fucking scan I’ve got to have tomorrow.” Her candour was not appealing. She then lit up a Gaullois, much to the irritation of the punters who cried out things that sounded like “Oy!” She is surely a couple of light bulbs short of a chandelier if you get my meaning...
The last time I saw Marianne was at the BBC recording a session for an edition of “Saturday Club”. Then, she had the appearance of a frail little bird with a sweetly tremulous voice ideally suited for faux-folk.
Fast forward then 40+ years and her voice has dropped about 38 octaves.
So, this is a complaint more about appearance than performance, it’s true. Which is why I was taken more with the antics of Miss St. John. She is talented I thought. She was on the organ, piano, accordion, sax and cor anglais. The last for the plaintive ‘hook’ on “As Tears Go By”. I was captivated by her.
Incidentally, my late, sainted mother, who was a fan of Patty Page, thought the song was called “As Queers Go By” (she was alittle ‘ard of ‘earing). This title was actually most apt in view of the apparent preponderance of attendees at the Barbican.
I think if people are frequently in “the public eye” they need to at least glance in the mirror before they go about their public business. Not to diss their fans.
Just before I go, and while I’m on the subject of attire, did you see that affreux outfit that Michelle Obama wore to see the Queen? In my eyes, it looked like something run up from a pattern cut out from a Woman’s Own magazine.
You may have read about the so-called “Slut Walk” where woman in America (natch!) were railing against us male chauvinist writers who think women should not dress like sluts because that is likely to attract the “wrong sort of man” (whatever that may be), who would want to rape them.
Look, even at Primark you can get some fairly respectable looking clobber. You can either look like a slut, an attractive lady who has taken a bit of trouble before she goes out, or, as in Marianne Faithfull’s case, a sack of potatoes. The last one doesn’t work for me...
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