TRISH CLOWES

TRISH CLOWES AND MY IRIS AT THE STAGE DOOR, SOUTHAMPTON – 21/02/23

THE STAGE DOOR is a sort of theatre bar. There’s a chandelier and kind of red velvety curtains and a pelmet and posters of all different musicals on the wall, like Chicago and Phantom of the Opera and stuff like that. I can imagine them doing little theatre shows here, I really can. I start a conversation with the guy on the door checking tickets. “Are you the organiser?” I say. “Yes,” says the guy on the door, “someone’s got to do it,” he adds with a satisfied smile. “That’s great,” I say. “Would you like a raffle ticket?” says a grey-haired woman approaching with an old biscuit tin full of raffle tickets and loose change. “Um, yeah sure,” I say, “go on then. What’s the prize?” I’ve never won a raffle before and don’t expect to start now, but it’s good to know what I might not win. There are two prizes: a CD and a “nice” bottle of wine. The ticket costs one pound.

There’s a mix of people here, young and old, mainly old. There are some teenagers near the back, probably brought here by their parents. One of them has red eyes like you see in photographs sometimes. 

The grey-haired woman takes to the stage to introduce the band, but then forgets who she’s introducing. “It’s Trish Clowes,” says TRISH CLOWES. “Thank you,” says the grey-haired woman. “Trish Clowes!” Clowes is a lyrical and considered player, almost studious. There is something almost studious about her. Not in a bad or stuffy way, though. It’s not a bad or stuffy kind of studiousness at all. It’s an exploratory and thoughtful kind. They seem to be following sheet music most of the time – which is probably why it struck me as studious – which is different to most of the jazz bands I have seen so far in my short silly life, most of whom just seemed to be making it up as they went along. It’s very precise music. It takes flight, for sure, but when it does it seems deliberate, worked out, planned in advance, rather than, I don’t know, like a happy accident or something. I don’t register that there’s no bass player until three or four songs in when they play Tonal by Joe Harriott, which is a great tune, and I notice that all the bass lines are being played by Ross Stanley on the Rhodes keyboard. I really am not the most observant person in the world, it does have to be said.

But studiously...

The grey-haired woman returns before the second set and invites Trish and guitarist Chris Montague to choose the winning raffle tickets. Despite my earlier pessimism, I allow myself to believe that I might, against all precedent, actually win a raffle, and I get my hopes up, but it’s not to be. Other people win, and they look nonplussed, like winning raffles is totally normal and something that happens all the time. Maybe it does. Maybe there are just certain people who always win raffles, and certain people who never do. I guess we’ll never know