When I wrote this piece, a little over 3 years ago, I had little inkling I would be now having to pen this one, so well did appear the near 80 year old I had marvelled at on stage only a few months before. And saw again, a year or so later, still in the same small Birmingham venue, once more marvelling at his dexterity, nimble fingers all over his guitar, and his voice, like ashes on a shovel, fresh out a furnace.
So many have said so much about him, since his sudden and unforewarned death in September that it seems insidious to try and say anything more or to add anything. His obituary in the Guardian newspaper says enough. I was a fan, especially of his late life renaissance, and his last two records sit as proudly on my shelves as his first two, despite the near half century between their making. I had bought his first two releases, way back in the day, taken by his odd way with words, his strangely sibilant tones and his clearly masterful guitar play. Rainmaker came out in 1969, followed by Fully Qualified Survivor a year later, with 50 coming out in 2017 and True North just two years later. Sure, there were a host of releases in between, as he fell from his initial recognition, plugging away regardless, an increasingly lone voice, ahead of being "discovered" by a bevy of americans half his age, drawn back into a limited centre stage. He seemed to thrive on their acclaim, if also a little mystified. Which made for a delightful stage presence, as his self-deprecating tales of the road introduced his timeless songs and tunes, the old and the new entwined seamlessly. It was, frankly, a privilege to witness.
The SMM post I link to in my introduction contains, within its own body, a link to a review I wrote, for a private members music platform I am a member of, of his 2017 show. Rather than to regurgitate that piece in full, I thought it may be apt to reproduce the addendum, following the show two years later:
"OK, so here I am again, 2nd time in a week, again revisiting an act already reviewed, a year or so ago, so tacked on here. This time Michael Chapman was with his band, who, minus the rhythm section, absent tonight, were the folk from his latest LP, True North. Namely Bridget St John on vocal and occasional 2nd guitar, Sarah Smout on cello and the incomparable B.J. Cole on pedal steel. Now the album is good, as good if not better than 2017’s North, but live this was a doozy. Despite a heavy cold, Chapman was on impeccable form, Smout and Cole incandescent. I was sitting perhaps a foot away from the side of Cole, watching his playing over his shoulder. :Phenomenal, and the bonkers freeform shimmers and chicanery he contributed was just stupendous, adding rather than detracting from the sense of wonder, evident aplenty all about the densely packed room of grizzled hipsters. 2 shortish sets, maybe 40 minutes apiece, each with about 5 or 6 long expositions based around, mainly, songs from these 2 albums. At one stage I wonder why St John, until a fabulous song where she sang lead, accompanied only by her own playing and of Chapman’s, getting it, and her, in a moment. (This was the song she does so well on the Chapman tribute album of a few years back, and which I commend.)
What a wonderful way to spend a monday night in, just, April. Michael Chapman is 78."
