| JERRY LEE LEWIS London
Hammersmith Odeon
"Hello, you good looking thang you..."
I wasn't far enough forward to comment on the colour of his eyes but the music was excellent.
I’d half expected a packed Odeon crowd assembling purely to dote over this legendary figure but not so. (It had occurred to me beforehand that it might be necessary to shake up the routine proceedings by dashing onto the stage and doing a rapid impersonation of the Baltimore Footstomper, reducing the Lewis piano playing capabilities by one quarter.) While every song begins and ends in applause, for once such appreciation is justified.
A snooker commentator recently said of Alex Higgins: "If the word star has any meaning at all then it applies to this man." A sentiment doubtful in application to the Hurricane but perhaps fitting for Jerry Lee.
Seated at his grand piano, he is surrounded by a bunch of musicians (probably world famous names but none of them known to me) executing the set in a manner as tight as... a duck’s arse? The ensemble manage to warm the often cold vastness of the Odeon, turning the affair into something closer to a Saturday night ("Satday nite we all git gawn!") in some sweaty Texan beer joint.
"Who remembers me last time I was here with my 13-year-old cousin? Ha! ha!"
Jerry Lee performs with an almost self-mocking edge. Letting his vocals sometimes become semi-yodels and letting the breezier numbers become showcases for his dazzling, blurred-fingered piano bashing.
But towards the end, despite the joy of playing piano with his backside, things take on an unsavoury air of showbiz sham. After a brief encore, the man walks off and the curtain abruptly closes.
The tickets were well above average price. But then, nothing about Jerry Lee is average and I, who didn’t pay, loved it.
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