Cromarty Hall, St. Margaret’s Hope, Orkney, 6 October 2009, and touring

THE PREMIERE of this National Theatre of Scotland production of Duncan McLean’s Long Gone Lonesome was packed to the gunnels. The show sold out before it was even advertised in the papers (how did that happen?) leaving a good few punters disappointed.

A vile night with the water swooshing over the Barriers was no disincentive either. I noted the touring van outside, all emblazoned with the publicity – posters and programmes carry the evocative postcard of a cowboy in the sunset, albeit a slightly tattered postcard, as if it had been carried in the pocket for a long time – printed over a stained sepia map of Shetland. Inside there are badges on all the seats! The programme’s free! I think there’s T-shirts and of course CDs (oh, the joys of having a decent budget…).

The Lone Star Swing Band: Iain Tait, Duncan McLean, Graham Simpson, Fiona Driver and Dick Levens (© Rebecca Marr)

There’s wine, and it’s all set out to look like a saloon, with round tables at the front and candles, and no nonsense old fashioned light bulbs strung around – and everyone has arrived half an hour early at least. Some folk have cowboy boots on. On the stage – a reel to reel tape recorder and a few cowboy hats.

Thought has gone into the cover image, by Colin Kirkpatrick and Rebecca Marr. The subject of the show, Thomas Fraser of Burra, carried a picture of a cowboy in his head all his short life. Thought also, clearly, has gone into the programme content. It’s bright and bouncy – crosswords, cartoons of the band, time lines of their careers, plus the always fascinating family snaps of this reclusive crofter, in his Shetland jumper.

He seems to have had a favourite, with green and white bands and what looks like a hood. He’s got unmanageable dark hair and a good smile. Past and present are nicely mingled – it ‘s a cheery piece of work, with a bit of Country and Western keening thrown in, a couple of the sort of lines quoted you expect to hear late on after a few whiskies.

“This isn’t about biography,” says MacLean. “As Thomas would surely have preferred, this is about music.”

It is, too. The Lone Star Swing Band have an amiable relationship with one another and a fine line in deadpan humour – particularly the drummer Graham Simpson, who manages to convey more without using speech than I would have thought possible They get the crowd on their side, with self-deprecating remarks and embarrassing pictures of their youth. Those hairstyles! Those boots – and the practice session in the egg packing station… but there’s a purpose behind this too. It’s taking us back.

The show eschews nostalgia and – just about – sentimentality. We’re shown Burra, over a a lovely lament by Fiona Driver, who can do sad, frenzied and intricate fiddle stuff without a flick of her pigtails. Then, a lovely shift in tone. The coming of electricity in ’53 is celebrated with a barnstorming honkytonk performance of ‘I Saw The Light.’

There’s a fine evocation of the train which takes Thomas away from Shetland, and a breathless description of his return. The musical selection is finely judged.

The show hinges, however, on two things – the directorial problems involved in producing a portable show (they are touring 15 more venues, mostly community halls), and the character of the – for want of a better word – compere, Maclean himself. It is very much his tribute, his passion.

The direction by Vicky Featherstone is unobtrusive, clean and simple. There’s audience participation in the best of traditions (I won’t spoil your pleasure, but a lot of folk on my side weren’t shouting – a bit early in the evening maybe!). There’s a bit of business with putting on and taking off cowboy hats which I found annoying – especially as I felt myself thinking it just wasn’t quite MacLean’s look.

(I notice the six strong production team includes a costume person, and wonder what she had to do, as they all look pretty much like their normal selves. Maybe that’s the achievement!) But these are petty things.

MacLean can tell a story well – he has a go at a Shetland accent, but wisely – or perhaps by mistake – discards it. He’s got good anecdotes; indeed, he tries to cram too much in – the three-minute history of Country and Western music, timed with a stop watch, for those of us who hadn’t heard of Jimmie Rogers, combined with a bagful of album covers, is neither fish nor fowl.

It’s too quick, too confusing, with a rather funny digression about Sir Walter Scott which gets completely lost – thus no use either to aficionados who know, or tenderfoots who don’t. Think of your poor audience, man! This is self indulgent!

However, his sheer enthusiasm for music, and for Fraser’s achievements with his reel to reel recorder, is palpable and engaging. The band adapt well to the extra demands placed on them, interacting in a way they’re not accustomed to. There are some sound level problems which need to be looked at. In the atmospheric moments, music drowns word, and it’s a bit of a shouting match.

Everybody, as they bed into the tour, will pace themselves better. Sheer noise doesn’t always work to indicate crisis – sudden silence is good too. Sometimes voice competes against instrument; but that’s also just a matter of tweaking. This is rather a different animal from a gig – it’s a story. Because the song lyrics are so important to Maclean’s perception of Fraser (“think of him choosing to sing those songs, in that way. Why? What does it mean?”, he asks ) – we really need to hear the words crisply.

He touches, very gently, on controversy. Some people say there are no original songs here – Fraser was just a covers man. (It’s true, when we hear Fraser’s voice, there’s not a touch of the Burra man in it; he could be from Memphis). But the sheer musicality and experimentation his homemade recordings display belies criticism like this, says MacLean.

Burra men, he claims, thought he was a bit strange, an outsider, not part of their “macho culture.” They called him “the mule” because he was dogged and didn’t take advice. But again, Maclean says, the guitar man’s response to that culture, where “feelings are stoppered up” was to find a vehicle for his emotions, in the mournful yearning lyrics of country songs.

The finale – Fraser’s rendition of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” is arresting: make your own minds up about whether the band should begin to sing and play along. I think I know why they did it – to bring us back into the now, and tell us that music learns from the past and moves into the future, to avoid nostalgia, to carry on the work of “reshaping and reimagining” which they worked hard at in their arrangements of his recordings.

But, to be honest, having learned about this shy wee man with his guitar in the bedroom, and his polio, and his chilled hands round hot tea, and his travail with boats, I wanted to hear him on his own. I don’t think it would have been sentimental at all, to end with his voice.

It’s a warm tribute, an impassioned one. The crowd, a mix of all ages, as is good and right, loved it. In true community hall style, there were homebakes and tea in the interval, and Strip the Willow afterwards. It deserves to play to full houses in every small hall on the west and east of Scotland. Best tribute of all – I went back to the programme and learned more. Have to get some CDs now…

© Morag MacInnes, 2009

Links

• Long Gone Lonesome
• Thomas Fraser Webpages