PAUL LAMB AND THE KINGSNAKES (Whelan’s, Dublin)

IT WAS a sound that was intended to be heard ’round midnight but somehow long before the witching hour it still managed to exude all the sorrow and sleaze it needed. Whether it was the Brylcreem lounge lizard form of Paul Lamb dragging deep on his harp, or the hip-swivelling sass of the bassist, I’m not altogether sure, but something was stirring in the front rows when I arrived and it wasn’t long before it shimmied its way down back where us plebs grooved unobtrusively on a canny look-out point.

A band who’ve faithfully revisited these parts in recent times, The Kingsnakes come as they are – a tight ensemble cast of old hands ready and willing to barter anything from bebop to big band to bluer than blue blues – if you catch my drift.

It was a sound that even Thelonious Monk’d have smiled reverently upon. With a psychotic double bassist assuming every position on the light side of the Kama Sutra with, a hefty stringed instrument partnering him, it was clear that The Kingsnakes were no precious preeners.

Most of the titles eluded me though from audience participation levels it was clear that most of the eardrums there were well acquainted with the songs. What was probably ‘Once Too Often’ smelt most definitely of Bird’s down home blues, the kind of sound that makes any Caucasian worth a damn want to body swap straight off with a black sibling just so’s s/he can get down.

With not a sign of a sax or trumpet in sight it was a curious quintet. But with harmonica, lead and bass guitars, percussion and double bass coupling and quintupling in all manner of wonderful positions there was hardly room for any more interlopers.

For the faithful, Paul Lamb And The Kingsnakes were a timely and fervent reminder that, despite what our god-like radio programmers might like to peddle, the blues are alive and well and living in sleaze street.