FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH - MY NIGHT WITH STEPHEN STILLS

23 October 2008, 
Vicar Street,
Dublin

Last night I did something I’ve never done before – I walked out of a gig part way through. Stand up Stephen Stills.

The venue  is a small and fairly intimate club setting.  Tables, drinks and a clear view of the stage - a very civilised arrangement, and a genuine 'I was at Woodstock' star.

The opening number was 'Helplessly Hoping', with Stills on electric guitar backed by a three piece bass, drums and organ combo. No worse choice perhaps for exposing the fact that Stills’ voice is shot to hell. Stripped of any harmony vocal it was actually painful to listen to. It did not help that they appeared to have brought in the soundman from The Wheel Tappers and Shunters Club to mic up the drums – made George Dawes sound like John Bonham etc.

The band then immediately left the stage and Stills ran through about 8 or 9 solo acoustic numbers.  These included a Dylan cover - 'Girl From The North Country' - and a very long rambling folk number to which he had written new words apparently. His guitar technique remains impressive, but again his voice was horribly exposed. I read an interview where he talked, in rather crass terms it has to be said, about a recent illness, and I can confirm that he does indeed sing like a man with erectile dysfunction.

After each song he stepped back from the mic and took a little bow, while a roadie brought on and plugged in a change of guitar. After every song! On occasion the roadie and guitar were shooed away to allow an extra bow. I should declare that I have always thought him more than a little smug albeit that around 1968-1971 he had every reason to be; when he wasn't chilling in Laurel Canyon, he was hanging out at Apple with George Harrison, or recording with Jimi Hendrix.

Thoroughly bored I began to take notice of the sights & sounds around me. It was hard not to. Next to me was a man clapping loudly out of time, and yelling "Yee-haw!" at random, inappropriate moments. He was clearly a fan. You could feel his near hysteria as Stills launched into 'Suite: Judy Blue Eyes'. The tension built as my neighbour waited for the Latin-tinged coda to kick in - a coiled spring of B.O. and anorak.

After a 20 minute interval the band returned. I noticed that the bass player looked like John Sergeant, dressed for the pasa doble – all skin-tight, silver buttoned ski-pants and shape throwing. I also realised that the band had been chosen so as to ensure that each of their foreheads was larger than Stephen’s. I noticed that the sound was appalling. Needless to say the crowd loved it.

One Tom Petty cover later, and midway through something that sounded like it may once have been ‘Rocky Mountain Way’, I made my excuses and left.