Music > Live Reviews

Hayseed Dixie

EPIC Studios

14/03/19

Covers need not lead down a cul-de-sac, as Hayseed Dixie has proved for nearly twenty years. Their jokey name may have blessed (and cursed) them with a reputation for doing tricksy versions of heavy-metal classics on the banjo but if such a reductive offering was really all they had to offer – and it is part of what they offer – they would surely have languished in relative insecurity, providing good-natured chuckles in half-hour support slots before making way for proper bands. What they actually delivered at the Epic Studios, with a combination of superb musicianship and frequently brilliant harmonies, was a stunning set of imaginative rearrangements, which combined with a healthy sprinkling of their own composition, stretched for over two hours.

Before defying presumption, however, Just Tom and Pete warmed up for the headliners, offering up their own quirky selection of covers, with stripped down versions of poptastic hits from the likes of Beyoncé, Destiny’s Child and the Spice Girls. Tom Copson’s ability as one-man rhythm section with no more than a tea chest and a cymbal was particularly impressive, while Pete Robbins was very nearly as good on acoustic guitar. Both personable fellows, with a nice line in patter, you had to admire the thematic purity of a set almost entirely constructed around girl power, but it was a bit odd. Odder still was the disorientating inclusion of Michael Jackson’s music – do they not watch telly – so while it was all competently done, I thought the best material on offer proved to be their own. A pity, then, that we only got to hear a couple in the set that sometimes felt more like a novelty act on Britain’s Got Talent, notwithstanding their obvious ability. Hopefully, they will gain confidence in their own song-writing skills, more of which I would be happy to hear.

The self-proclaimed progenitors of Rockgrass kicked off their headline set with an AC/DC cover (what else?) and there was more than enough to satisfy anyone who had come along for a giggle. That hoary old standard, Eye of the Tiger, was straightforwardly funny, while Bohemian Rhapsody managed to be funny and clever all the same time. It was, however, the Ace of Spades that was the tipping point for me. This was in no sense a parody of the Motorhead classic but a legitimate and respectful take on Lemmy’s masterpiece. Yes, there was ample humour along the way, with that evergreen standard I’m keeping your Poop, as funny, and as revolting, as ever, but thereafter the evening increasingly tilted towards musical excellence. John Wheeler’s vocals were remarkably strong given the variety of material he had given himself to sing, while the whole band contributed to an overall voice. Otherwise, Jake Byers and Tom Carter (on acoustic bass and banjo) seemed content to let their instruments do the talking, which left Joe Himes on crowd-pleasing duties. Constantly on the prowl, whether it was gurning at the audience, shaking his considerable booty, or (with foot up on the monitor) playing the guitar hero, he was a consummate showman. Imagine Bez with a beard and a mandolin, and you’re getting somewhere close.

The energy of the band was relentless, with a seemingly endless selection of reinvented classics tumbling out of their instruments. I’ll confess to being a tad disappointed we didn’t get to hear We are the Road Crew, Rebel Yell, or the best version of Don’t fear the Reaper your every likely to hear outside of a BOC gig (perhaps Wheeler forgot to pack his violin) but this only went to show the depth of their back catalogue. The absence of my personal favourites did at least allow elbow room for a great version of War Pigs, followed by what was perhaps the highlight of set, a stunning version of Simon and Garfunkel’s Mrs Robinson, with not a hint of comedy in its delivery.

Not that there was a hint of comedy in John Wheeler’s chat with the audience, a sober and timely reflection on the state of our respective nations. In other hands, a break in the music might have simply been annoying, but so heartfelt was his recollection of race segregation in his hometown (astonishingly, this shameful practice was within living memory) I found myself, slack-jawed, wanting to hear more from this measured, thoughtful and very likeable man. What we did get to hear more of, in the encore that followed, was Highway to Hell morphing into Freebird and back again, rounding off a fabulously entertaining night that delivers so much more than the l chuckle I suspect many came along for.