R. STEVIE MOORE : THE CASTLE, OLDHAM STREET, MANCHESTER, WEDNESDAY AUGUST 10th 2011
The gig of the century, that never transpired, through a riot-hit Mancunian mist.
Spreading the good word in dirty-earnest.
If the theory of Parallel Universes has any validity, I can guarantee you, you’re in the wrong one. In a certain groove of the musical Multiverse, R. Stevie Moore is a name as familiar to your echo-self as any of The Beatles, only in that reality, these Beatles-of-a-lesser-John performed in obscurity, before calling it quits. Luckily, there exists in our reality the stubborn endeavours of a Bona Fide Genius, who for some reason missed the fame train. Or rather, it missed him.
The Beatles analogy is maddeningly valid, and R. Stevie Moore has written more songs of optimum quality than had all four been as prolific as an amphetamine-addled Daniel Johnston in the 1980s, for double the decade they dominated. Like Johnston, Moore is regarded as an Outsider Musician, but for no other reason than he has predominantly home-recorded his material, and is dizzyingly prodigious. Moore’s mental state is not in question, though after nearly 40 years on the periphery I’m not sure how.
His father Bob Moore was a respected musician in his own right, as a bass player most commonly associated with Elvis Presley & Roy Orbison - but also with Bob Dylan, Jerry Lee Lewis, Sammy Davis Jr, Andy Williams and Quincy Jones to name but a few. Such a talent-gasm must have sent shockwaves reverberating through Bob’s seminal vesicles considering R. Stevie rivals them all.
From the moment I heard ‘Melbourne’, I knew I had found what I was ultimately looking-for.
Little did I know how completely nut-punched I would be with every subsequent song I heard. Every fucking song I heard on ‘Phonography’ sounded like a classic from a parallel universe. ‘I’ve Begun to Fall in Love’ is just scrotum-shrinkingly good. Devastatingly incredible.
Like the prequel to ‘Caroline, No’ by Brian Wilson, (via ‘Don’t Talk, Put Your Head On My Shoulder’ maybe), it is so innocent, so beautiful. so DOOMED. I can’t help but contort my face with every chord-change to represent the particular feeling it evokes, as it meanders so unexpectedly into each incongruous, but perfect chord. Such a weird uncertainty… his voice seems to be so defiant, and sure of how righteous his love is for Carolynn, as it fights against the lugubrious, mournful-sounding chords, that seem to simultaneously echo, and negate the feelings that formed lyrics.
Shortly after discovering his music I embarked upon a flight. It had been a while since I’d done so. It’s not natural, and anyone in their right mind would have to get their mental doormen in-place to stave-off the panicky disaster-bastards from bleeding-in, hooting and gnawing at the console, their shit-filled pants spilling out undetected among the stench of the apocalyptic in-flight meals. My particular mental-employees would lullabye his songs through my mind, and I found I was afraid to die only because, at that point - I had just three of his albums.The feeling I was enveloped-by, in the midst of discovering his music, was nothing less than love itself. My girlfriend caught us. One day while puttin’ up the groceries, she turned around to see a most peculiar look on my face. The expression spoke of a man who has indulged in pocket-Billiards to such an extent, that his face betrays his secret tournament to the watching world. I was so enraptured by the choice of chord change on ‘What’s The Point?!!’, she thought I’d friction-singed my intimates.
So selfish am I, that upon discovering music that I so abruptly crumble-to, my instinct is to keep it to myself. But in this case it became impossible. That selfish desire fell-away the more blank faces I encountered when spreading the word. If you stumbled across a cure for cancer, could you keep it to yourself?
R. Stevie Moore might not cure cancer (at least, he’s not been widely regarded-enough yet to be put to the scientific test, or exposed to a large enough demographic), but if you had the misfortune to contract-it having been lucky enough to have discovered him – you’ve had a good run.
R. Stevie Moore has written more than enough music to last you a lifetime, there’s just something about it that sets my soul aglow.
During an evangelical bout of fevered letter writing in 2009 which included the director of ‘The Devil & Daniel Johnston’ Jeff Feuerzeig, ex Public Image Ltd Bassist Paul Jones, and BBC commissioning editors and their minions, I spoke to Half Japanese’s Jad Fair, who theorised that R. Stevie’s relative anonymity was down, in part, to a reluctance to play live.
"I think part of the reason he isn’t better known is that he hardly ever plays out. I did 3 shows this year on the same bill with him and he sounded superfine.”Jad Fair, Half Japanese
Well, now he is, on Wednesday he plays Manchester for the first time, and it’s your chance to play a part in a long overdue and deserved ascent into recognition. You’ll either come and be enraptured, or come and be able to say that you were there. Either way, it’s definitely not something you want to miss.
His forever-indebted Mooreon,
Chester Whelks
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