Review: Beans on Toast / Boss Caine / Zak Ford / Mark Wynn
Venue: Fibbers, May 23
When Beans On Toast has to stop his set to make sure you’re not a racist, it’s possibly time you reevaluated your behaviour. Good work on the enthusiasm, lads, but you really need to be careful when you’re shouting the lyrics to Dirty Paki with such exuberance…
I mean, I’m still not entirely convinced you’re not part of the EDL, the lads at the bar in Beer And A Burger were less abhorrent than you. I just think you need to reign it in a bit. Cheers. That’s it now. I’ve said my piece about the possibly-racist-pissed-up-morons down the front. I’m over it.
Beans On Toast sounds like he’s got an electrolarynx. Which may not sound remotely like a compliment, but I like it. And he could be mistaken for a genius, but I just think he’s a free thinker and a bloody good egg. He’s undeniably a graduate of the Billy Bragg school of playing four chords and singing the truth, with songs about love, life and politics and every track sounding strangely familiar. On stage he’s unprepared and forgetful. But what do you expect? A set list? You fools.
That is what’s so exciting about a Beans On Toast gig, to regretfully quote Ellie Goulding, “anything could happen”. Tonight we had a duet with Dan Lucas, those low vibrations were almost too much to take, followed by spoken word poet Henry Raby freestyling about the moon, which featured the inspiring line “We are winners! We are York!”. I monitored the suspected EDL’s behaviour following that last line. Verdict: suspicious.
As always, Tim Hornsby managed to get the lineup just right. Although, I’m sure you couldn’t keep Dan Lucas away if you tried, quite the long distance bromance there. Yes, I just used the word bromance. I hate myself too. I nervously stood next to Beans On Toast as Boss Caine performed, full band I hasten to add, and he was singing along to every word. Dan, I think it’s true love.
If you’re from these parts you’ll be hard pushed to have missed out on seeing Boss Caine perform in one of their many forms. The gravelly-not-quite-so-electrolarynxed vocal of Dan Lucas was supported by violin, cello and double bass as he sailed through a bluesy set of old and new material.
Zak Ford is divine. Borrowing Boss Caine’s cellist for this set, I am swooning with every note. He reminds me of a singer that I’ve accidentally fallen in love with recently called Glen Hansard, power and control and that all important gravel, which, it would seem, is the common theme of the evening.
When I arrived, late as usual, Mark Wynn was at least one song in. And the fact that I may have missed And Dave Went Mental leaves me in a mild state of panic. Don’t ask me why, because I have no idea, but I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. You’ll know Mark Wynn if you’ve spent any time at all in The Habit, although, if you haven’t, perhaps you could describe him as a brilliant Yorkshire poet that picked up a guitar.
Don’t miss Beans On Toast next time… and don’t be a racist.