So it’s almost farewell and adieu to those pioneers of stadium folk, the mighty Bellowhead, as they set sail on the first of their footstomping, shanty-singing, brass-blasting valedictory tours.
The next is in April, but you’ll have to be nifty to get a ticket.
The appeal of Bellowhead, as their name suggests, has always been a lot of noise.
It’s as if someone opened the barn doors after a very good party eleven years ago and this lot fell out.
Since then they have blown the memory of (whisper it) Steeleye Span far, far away with an anarchic and formidable brass section, done much to raise the profile of girls called Nancy, and no doubt inspired many hipsters to take up the tuba, if not the oboe.
Which is a good thing, as Keston Cobblers Club are puffing very ably at their heels. A more intimate affair, with a subtlety of instrumentation that suited the
Sunday-evening concert setting, the Keston Cobblers Club mix gentle lyricism and quirky song-writing with the declamatory harmonies that have been the genre’s supporting wall for generations.
So that’s not all, folks.
Four Stars
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