Thursday, 8 November 2012

White and Black

Jack White, Blackpool.

For my liking, Blackpools faded grandeur has been too well hidden behind the tacky signs of variety shows and merchants of tat. There are all speeds of fast food from the quickstep to the mad dash and none of it anything more than average fodder.

Stepping in from the outside and it's less easy to hide the original decor, which is sometimes quite outstanding; deco mixed with Louis XIIII. The resin reproduction of a Spanish galleon was amusing to say the least although I did shudder a little to think what they ripped out to install it.

We tunnelled deeper to find our place within the throng of the faithful, the youthful, impatient crowd weened on festivals and keen to bring that discipline to this venue. The repeated barging forward and patticake dancing were not really to my taste but then, in my early years, I was schooled in dancing that bruised and often drew blood. Barring that, Mr White was amazing. I confess that I don't get everything that he does but I have to say that I loved every minute. He let the music do the talking and played the crowd with diverse dynamics. It surprised me that he didn't banter more and play more solos but that only occurred to me afterwards. The show was pure music and was spectacular.

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