An Lanntair, Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, 18 December 2009

Alasdair White (© Louis De Carlo)

THERE WERE gigs and rumours of gigs. Out past the comfort zone, illuminated with halogen and neon, even into the utter dark which signifies a side of Broad Bay, aye even out as far as Coll, the caravans of homecome islanders and works-nights-out ventured far. And the rumours did say that the Vatersay Boys were well supported and that they gave of fuel for dance with due diligence even as they have performed from Castlebay to Lochinver in former days.

And in the very heart of the city, armbands for The Hazey Janes, freshly transported from the metropolis of Dundee, in the nightclub known as Era were being traded at the hour of the day when many dinners were still being consumed. But a small convoy continued along the environs of south beach to the arts centre known as an Lanntair, a green and red beacon signifying festivity. In that place was assembled a great band of warriors in the field of folk-rock, amplified and extended for the occasion.

But the heroes were rested at the start of the battle. The singer songwriter known as Sean Harrison led his own extended troupe in progressively downbeat songs sung with great sadness. The voice of a woman of Ireland brought subtle change and the harmonies of a female local voice brought alternation of tone. But the auditorium experienced the danger of the sweep of chords being sufficient to lull rather than stimulate, with small variation. However the hypnotism of the voice of the main practitioner was also sufficient to please and give good measure of joy.

And when the seasoned campaigner of the White camp and of the Battlefield Band, worked his bow alongside that of the local Ms Hepburn and that joined energy was balanced with driving accordian and keyboard of manic persuasion, it could be said indeed that the very fabric of the building was shaken and also stirred and a small number of dancers took to the air.

OK, so there could have been more folk at an Lanntair, and perhaps the large number of events was a bit ambitious for the population of Lewis, but Face The West played as if they were at the Carnegie Hall – the New York one rather than the Iona one. I’ve probably followed the progress of this band for about a year now, and I have report that their development is a phenomenon.

Alasdair White’s fiddle was of course a marvel, but there were no weak links. I’d say the main shift is in the driving force and the variations in the rhythms. DC MacMillan was an exciting but reliable drummer, weaving intricate, Indie/ Dance beats with more traditional fare. It seemed that the band would look to him to get the lift. Drum and guitar interplay was especially lively. And then the whole band would go for it, jigs and reels.

Keith Morrison never gives as little as 100 percent. His performance on keyboards and stagecrafted movement borders on the manic, but it’s directed to a purpose and effective in carrying it out. His use of Synths tinge some of the tracks in an up-to-date electro glo. This is a showband even without the high caliber guests.

There were waltzes. And they were indeed waltzed by a straggle of superbly dressed survivors of office parties. But the pace never dropped too far and the finale was a triumph.

Now I’m certain that those who went to Back Football Club were rewarded with the consistent quality dance music of the Barra brigade. And I can’t comment on Hazey Janes as I only heard a few riffs in the flypast on the way home. But our own gang was unanimous we’d made the right choice for entertainment on the continent of Lewis, on the 18th day of the last month of the year nine.

© Ian Stephen, 2009

Links

• Face The West