Harry Manx @ Freo.Social
Sunday, November 13, 2022
East may be East and West may be West and they may say that never the twain shall meet. Harry Manx begs to differ, and he’s been explaining why for any number of decades now. This Sunday he was at it again, deploying between six and twenty (!) strings to make his case.
Freo.Social thoughtfully considered the needs of the employed punter, putting on a seven-o’clock show. Manx devotees arrived well before doors, spilling into the uber comfy front bar’s overstuffed lounges to watch the conga line snake inward. Loads of leather, a fair bit of denim and the odd paisley testified to deep hippie roots for Manx’s blend of Indian ragas and Mississippi blues.
Manx is a one-man band and he strolled on stage getting down to business with zero fuss. He had his signature Mohan Veena out and shimmering before some of the crowd even realised the show had started. If you don’t know about the Veena, look it up. A mad contraption, half lap-steel guitar and half a dizzying array of drone and sympathetic strings, with a magical trembling sound that hypnotises like no other. Apparently you can get one on Amazon; twenty-five grand, but hey, free delivery in a week. Manx mixed in spooky, low-key vocals and the best foot-stomp drum sound you’re likely to hear. Thank you laptop, stage right.
Quick switch to a standard lap-steel guitar, which would prove to be his main axe for the night, and we were treated to down-tempo Junior Kimbrough on the Ganges, for Manx’s tune Let It Go…and then a rapid-fire delivery of biblical and Shakespearean maxims that set the hawk and the dove free to circle and roam.
After this brisk start to the set, the audience was treated to a succession of jokes involving dentists and little old ladies with fresh baked cookies, then invited to make some requests. That got out of hand quite quickly…. Manx shut it down as kindly as possible and then let loose a sweet rolling country number, Make Way for the Living, that had everyone rapt and swaying just so slightly in their seats. It may not have been Gospel but there was a distinct church vibe in the air in that moment.
That didn’t last long, as this was the point at which the cigar box guitar made its appearance. Fanciest one you’re likely to see, with high-end tuners and more, this may have been the point of maximum east-west fusion. Manx used his steel to extract some serious microtonality from the guitar’s twang, with the thing almost sounding like rubber-bands at times, all in the service of Springsteen’s classic, I’m On Fire. A lovely and original interpretation that brought something new to a song everyone thinks they already know.
Pretty soon we were back in the Delta, complete with railroads, nine-pound hammers, work gang captains, and the ghost of John Henry – an elegy for a time when a man might work for a dollar a day. Manx followed this bit of history up with another, giving Gershwin’s standard Summertime the full sitar treatment, then diving deeper into the blues by cracking out the harmonica riding delicious highly compressed AM radio (and a two-inch speaker) tones for authenticity. Thanks once again to that laptop.
And that was just the first set!
More of the same came after the break, with stylish and haunting renditions of classics (Long Black Veil, one of the requests made during the scrum in the first set, was particularly rewarding) and quite of few of Manx’s better known numbers, which had the fans at their liveliest. The one-man band was really pumping by now; bass lines, chord work and leads all jumping out of the guitar, with bass drum and hi-hat from the feet, and harp and vocals driving everything. It’s amazing what a person can do when they put their mind to it.
Manx went deeper and deeper into the blues with The Thrill is Gone, a passionate take on the old B.B. King number that morphed halfway through into a one-off version (satire, maybe?) of Voodoo Child, another request from the crowd. Chop it down with the edge of your hand, thank you. And have a Spoonful, courtesy of the Mohan Veena’s second appearance. Somehow, the shimmer and sheen it summoned pulled the bitterness out of that testament to inhumanity.
More of Manx’s own tunes came next, then some Muddy Waters, and then it was back to the Mohan Veena for a magical, ambient rendition of Van Morrison’s classic Crazy Love, which pretty much immobilised everyone in the venue, perhaps even the bartenders, rounding out a great night for all.
Manx is his own roadie as well, breaking down his gear after the show with a practiced air. It seems as if he’s as nice in person as he comes across on stage, as he took plenty of time to chat to the fans, and the bedroom slide guitar players, who will doubtless take his brand of golden slide goodness to the next level as time marches on.
MIKE JEFFREY
Photos by Alan Holbrook
