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Crosby Stills and Nash still travelling

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On to the music.

Vika and Linda, on first, and bandying the odd joke about their old boss Joe Camilleri, displayed their characteristic true-as-steel harmonies (Vika is the true metal-cutter). Despite the distressing fact that their songs displayed a monotonous regularity of key, they performed pleasantly and warmed up the crowd. Their outstanding 3-piece band spiced up the predictable songs by jamming with each other really well. A good beginning.

By contrast, and surprisingly, Joe Camilleri's band didn't really sit together. They sounded a little ragged and unconfident, which was odd if this was truly their 200th show this year, as the compere claimed. Perhaps they were tired. Or perhaps they had a sit-in brass player – hard to tell as I don't know the usual band. They were also plagued by niggling sound and instrument problems, and despite working very hard at performance (Joe delivered his usual all-out effort), they only succeeded in really warming up the crowd in the last few numbers. Standouts included Camilleri's masterful tenor sax work.

And last to the legendary Crosby, Stills and Nash. Even now I still know all their names, however I am definitely not a slavish fanboy as were so many at Rochford that day.

First the bad. These guys have obviously barely navigated the psycheledic torrent. Crosby has famously lingered on the threshold of life more than once – it's astonishing that he can stand up, let alone sing. The band were laid back to the point that it seemed like the dress rehearsal rather than the gig (although to be fair, these guys could probably work an audience in their sleep). Even on record in their heyday, CSN sounded as though they were barely holding it together.

Also, age has not dealt kindly with Stephen Still's voice. Wavering and occasionally seriously out of tune, he reinforced the fact that this bottle is past its best.
However, we are talking a magnificent bottle. And Stills plays an extraordinary bluesy, Hendrix-influenced guitar. He uses the whammy bar to great effect, making it sound like a sort of sung scream, and his playing, unlike his vocals, is confident and compelling. It makes you wonder how much he and Neil Young, a former alumnus of the band, influenced each other's chops.

Let's be fair: these guys were never technically great harmonists. However the peculiar quality of their blended voices, and their musical adventurousness, made for compelling listening. It still does.

Their complex material often seems to consist of one bit of song stuck to another bit of song. Then, just when you are hoping for some repetition, along comes an entirely new bit of song, often in a different tempo and time signature. They only get away with this because most of the bits are so damned good. They also have a sophisticated sense of rhetoric in their often-conversation lyrics which raises the work to a higher level.

And Crosby still sings like a battered angel. The band commands the stage with absolute authority, and an unchallengable sense that their music still has worth and even relevance. The odd political comment reinforces this. Crosby compared Bush to a monkey, and congratuated us Australians on getting rid of our monkey. The crowd, apparently Labor-voting liberals to a man (sorry, person), lapped this up.
As expected, CSN stuck to the standards - Marrakesh Express, Woodstock, David Crosby with his white halo of locks memorably singing Almost Cut My Hair– but it was far from the perfunctory performance I was dreading. An excellent vintage.

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