Wednesday Night Music Review: Fish
The relationship between an artist and their audience can be tenuous. Fans are notoriously fickle creatures, following the whims and winds of whatever is currently riding high on the charts while the artist who fifteen minutes ago was hotter than hot now finds themselves rummaging for crumbs off of a table that a short time ago was graced by their presence at its head.
A cult artist doesn't have such concerns. Survival, yes; popularity, no. They have their audience, earned over the years and kept close by not only affection for what has come before but also a steady flow of new material that passes by completely unnoticed on the pop charts but nonetheless is sought after and cherished by the faithful. The question for the cult artist isn't whether anyone will buy the new album or concert ticket. It's whether their audience is sufficiently large to maintain their continued existence in music.
Such is the situation faced by one Derek William-Dick, better known by those who know him at all as Fish, original lead singer for veteran progressive rock band Marillion who since the late '80s has worked as a solo artist. Never a mainstream hit maker, although when with Marillion he did enjoy some success with the song "Kayleigh" back in 1985, Fish has followed his muse to near total anonymity Stateside and only slightly better results in Europe where he keeps in front of the public eye through constant gigging.
Back to Fish's fortunes, or lack thereof, on these shores. He is currently on his first U.S. tour in a decade, supporting his most recent and quite excellent album 13th Star. It's a risky venture; the financial backing is whatever might be in his pockets as opposed to any kind of label support, and it's not like he's out there promoting his latest hit single. This being what it is, Fish is on the road working matters as best he can. Last night at the House of Blues in L.A., he made it work very well indeed.
In front of a full and wildly enthusiastic room, Fish took the stage a half-hour late although this was hardly his fault as it was first necessary to wait for the Lakers-Celtics game to reach its conclusion. Opening with "Slainte Mhath" from 1987's Clutching At Straws, Fish's final album with Marillion, although the song was noticeably lower in key than the original as time and excessive use has clipped off the upper register of Fish's voice the power was undiminished, even after twenty-one years.
The vast majority of the set was taken from either 13th Star, with all songs from same enthusiastically received, or Clutching At Straws. Highlight of this was the trio of songs that opened the album ("Hotel Hobbies / Warm Wet Circles / That Time Of The Night (The Short Straw)"), alternating between nocturnal musings and intimated nightmare. The album's central theme of an artist offering observations about their own self-destruction begs for a return visit; perhaps on his next album Fish could pen the tale of an artist noting their own survival despite appearing headed for immolation at their own hand years before.
In the here and now, Fish is a unique presence on stage. Looking more like a stern uncle lecturing wayward nieces and nephews than anything normally associated with a rock star, he stalked the stage with intensity minus self-importance. As was made clear during his in-between song banter and as he wandered through the crowd during a cover of The Sensational Alex Harvey Band's "Faith Healer," Fish is genuinely appreciative of his audience, stating in word and deed how they're there not because he's the current flavor of the week -- or for that matter ever was -- but due to the bond between artist and audience when both communicate sincere affection, one for another.
The show wasn't perfect. Sound-wise, everything was dominated by a bottom-heavy approach often obscuring most everything else, especially the vocals which even when Fish was speaking while the band was silent came out as a muddy mess. Also, his incessant dropping of f-bombs during conversations between songs rapidly grew monotonous. Nevertheless, Fish in L.A. wasn't so much a concert as a celebration of an audience loving an artist and the artist loving them right back. You can't ask for much more than that.
Sounds like fun. I haven't been to a concert in years. One of my friends from Texas is planning on touring this fall, so I'm hoping to catch him in Athens.
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