Lindisfarne – Lichfield Garrick Theatre – 30th October 2026
The Fog on the Lich? The evergreen Lindisfarne roll in on a wave of way more than nostalgia, showing just how to do their heritage proud.
A PROPER GIG
When does a much revered band become a parody, a pastiche of their once mighty form, eking out their days at provincial theatres? I don’t know, but it certainly ain’t Lindisfarne. There may be but one band original on the stage and the newest songs may be 30 years old, but, blimey, they don’t half still pack a punch, playing a set that addresses deeper cuts along with the expected bangers. Indeed, they looked like a normal band, too, if somewhat older, rather than the sequins and suspenders of similar vintage heritage shows.
None of your suspiciously note perfect micro-sets either, where you count the instruments you can hear against the number of players on stage. This was a proper gig, in two well-proportioned halves, enjoyed both by the band and their audience, the two tiered venue appearing to be sold out, and rightly so.
A FONDLY RECALLED CORNER
I used to love the band, back in their, gulp, 55 years ago heyday, hooked a little late by their sound, when Meet Me On The Corner topped the charts. Duly hoovering up Fog On The Tyne, the album, and it’s predecessor, I was at the record shop, bright and early and on the day, for the release of “difficult” 3rd album, Dingly Dell. I loved it, or most of it. My passion then dimmed as the band split into rival factions, my preferences erring more toward the Jack the Lad offshoot. Prejudices remained and, even as later success beckoned, with Run For Home, I was looking away, even if Alan Hull had rejoined whoever else was left. I preferred his solo stuff.
Fast forward into this century. Alan Hull has died, 1995, and, in the interim, various iterations of originals have wrangled over the ownership of the name, with myriad line-ups. But I did note and take interest as Rod Clements, the bassist and fiddle player first time around, took over the b(r)and, in around 2015.
As the writer of several of the non-Hull songs and part of the Jack the Ladders, I felt he offered a greater credibility than some of the other curatorships. Add in that Hull’s son-in-law, Dave Hull-Denholm, himself active in the band between 1994 and 2003, and with a solo Hull before that, was also back in the fold, this too was a reassurance, he offering an uncannily pitch-perfect facsimile of the Hull vocal timbre. Of course, I saw them, at Wickham, in 2022, and all that faith was rewarded, with a stonking show that had many of the audience openly weeping with joy. I certainly was.
NEITHER ROTE NOR REPLICA
So, would this be a song by song, note by note replay of that festival slot? Knowing they have no new, this was a slight concern. if shortly to be extinguished. The stage had more instruments than anticipated, starting with a bed of keyboards to stage left, alongside a rack of guitars, acoustic, electric and some with 12 strings. A chair sat centrally, surrounded by more guitars and a prominent mandolin. Across to the right, another keyboard and even more guitars, even more 12 strings. Behind this trio, in the gaps, a drum kit and a pair of basses. At the very back an antique looking stack of gizmos, a Heath Robinson idea of an amplifier maybe, upon which I could see a large cup of tea.
Bang on 7.30; yup, if there is something in the air, it is pensionable, and we all need our sleep, on the quintet came, with Clements offering a wave and a broad grin. As the gaffer and not so long since a fractured hip, the chair was his. Opening, aptly, with Court In The Act, from Dingly Dell, this gave notice this wasn’t neither rote nor replica. A typical Hull construction of soaring verses, all leading to a raggedy-Andy singalong chorus, it was grand. Hull-Denholm is the vocal spit of his pa-in-law and clearly relishes the performance, smiling so much his face could split. Notably, and from the start, Clements now plays a mean old electric slide, interjecting bottleneck peals into any spaces available.
MINING FOR NUGGETS
A song from the Hull solo canon follows, The Squire, suggesting any number of treats might now be considered fair game, followed by The Scarecrow Song, from the band debut, and a song I had all but forgotten about. Steve Daggett, associated with the band since the mid-80’s, who had started on guitar, had by now switched to keyboard, notably a nifty Hammond ensemble, his swoops and swirls adding plentiful character. Clements now gave the basis of the show’s running order, suggesting it would be one deliberately mining for unexpected nuggets, before, necessarily, playing the hits.
And, oh joy, this was confirmed by Hull-Denholm announcing a particular favourite, the title track of Hull’s final solo album, Statues and Liberties. This was delivered in a cracking style, the band as one with the unanticipated appearance. Heck, even drummer, Paul Smith, on board since 2021, was grinning, which, given he played on the unoriginal, made perfect sense.
Maybe now needing some familiar ground, as Daggett started the plaintive organ intro to the next song, so the first full burst of recognition applause exploded. Lady Eleanor, of course, it could be nothing else, with Clements taking the majestic mandolin part. The bass line is another stalwart in that song, it now plied by a burly newcomer, at least to my eyes. Proud of beard, belly and bald pate, all often staples of this most important member of a band, this turned out to be a returning Steve Cunningham, a member for a decade in the 80’s into 90’s and a veteran of Hull’s bands too. It was a glorious rendition, and, by now, I wasn’t the only audience member singing along.
DULY WRY REFERENCE
Smith, Hull-Denholm and Cunningham now left the stage. Clements, only too aware of the band’s place in the formative years of his audience, made wry reference to the fact that, having played the next song for 55 years, only now was he allowed to sing it himself, having written it, and to change both the key and some of the words. Train In G Minor comes now more as a reflective slow burner than the chug of yesteryear, and it was a lovely moment. With Cunningham’s fretless bass and his own bottlenecked picking, it was a beauty. As was, with the absent trio returning, the wistful Song For A Scarecrow, from Hull’s Pipedream album, if taken up promptly by the band, whenever he rejoined them. Daggett then took up the vocal for the yearning Float Me Down The River, another forgotten gem from the debut.
And talking of gems, a Clements song from 1989’s Amigos, got now an airing, from the period the band maybe meant least, and from when I had stopped paying attention. A gritty critique of the then social climate, this was a second Clements/Cunningham presentation. Up next, Walk A Crooked Mile, also from Hull’s marvellous Statues And Liberties, and released posthumously, further lighted my night, before the maudlin but never mawkish January Song closed the first half. A generous 25 minutes was offered for refreshments, audience, and retuning, the band. As I snuck off to the bar, I was able to thank Hull- Denholm for the pleasure of the later Hull songs sung, he revealing a further Alan Hull Songbook album is in the pipeline.
BLUESY CHUGGERS
An audibly more lubricated audience greeted the return of the band, as they kicked forth with one of the bluesy chuggers that Ray Jackson used to lead on. Road To Kingdom Come, with Clements clearly enjoying the freedom to sing another of his songs, and to ply yet more slinky slide guitar. Another favourite then popped up, Passing Ghosts, one of those songs, on record, so heavily layers the splendour of the original band’s 4, maybe 5 part ,’nicely out of tune’ harmonies. Wonderful as it was to hear again the song, I confess it was the one moment when I wished for the presence of Struwelpeter headed guitarist, the late Simon Cowe, who added so much to the raw unison vocal ensemble. A further outlier from the band’s more anonymous years, Clements’ Working My Way Back Home underlined perhaps how my prejudices around those years might need some attention.
There is probably only one Lindisfarne song I can’t and could never get to grips with, that being the, and I’m being kind, the rather more ‘experimental’ Dingly Dell. I loathed it then, and again in 2021 at Wickham, that view changing not one iota tonight. Never mind, that was more than made up for, with the glorious Winter Song, With just he and Cunningham on stage, Hull-Denholm teased the audience into choral participation. This he had played after Songbook, a very early Hull demo. As the full band reconvened, We Can Swing Together brought back the sound of swinging Lichfield, sweeping on up to the rafters.
THE TRICKIER ALLITERATIVE
Sensing a home strait might be in view, the familiar intro to perhaps their best known song was dangled out for enticement, drawn out as to ramp up the anticipation. The Fog On The Tyne, of course, and, as ever, it was all theirs, although the audience, not stumbling a step in even the trickier alliterative of the final verse, could also perhaps stake a claim. No violin part, this time around, but Clements repealed it faithfully on mandolin. What could possibly follow that? Easy, as the familiar harmonica intro brought both a palpable and audible aah from the crowd. Meet Me On The Corner has lost none of its power and was terrific in the intensity offered.
The last of the big hits formed the official last song status, the song that returned the original line-up to the charts in 1978, after their earlier fractures. Run For Home I never liked then, it’s gloopy strings out of sync with the then prevailing musical climate, or mine, at least. But, as at Wickham, the years have been kind to it, and, shed of unnecessary orchestration, is a monster of a song, and they did it proud. I had wondered if they would go through the charade of an encore, and, as is the modern way, so they didn’t, telling us that, were they to, this would be the song they would return with, a blistering Clear White Light, more than enough to send this punter home happy, although I don’t think, for a second, I was in any minority.
THIS IS HOW TO DO IT
………should any other elders of my formative musical canon be reading, and I can only recommend the show to anyone of broadly similar vintage. Heck, I reckon most of these songs have appeals that last way beyond their time capsule, thus disappointed how few youngsters were curious enough to attend. Their loss and our gain.
Thanks, fellas, until the next time, God willing. Tread careful.
I can’t find any new, so here are some rags and reminders from 1971’s Old Grey Whistle Test:
Lindisfarne: Website