Back yem.

Spent the evening in an old Victorian theatre by the city walls, listening to the beautiful warblings of Geordie folk singing sisters. Their songs perfectly evoke the spirit of crisp beaches, winter quayside walks, grey winding rivers and dreary crowded docks. All in gorgeous husky voices and a spot of clog dancing thrown in. It was all a bit too perfect, and Trembling Bells supported them so I also got to meet my hair idol, Lavinia Blackwall. Listening to The Unthanks and their Geordie witticisms on stage between songs, I wonder if that Northumbrian, folklore image is translated amongst those who aren't natives in quite the same way. Morrissey's Every Day Is Like Sunday, Billy Eliot, Grey Street, Blaydon Races, bitter cold walks on the quayside in winter and thick accented old men in swirly carpeted pubs. It's good to be home.

 

 

Here's a particularly, excellently miserable song they played. Coal houses, broken hearted lasses at railways stations, poor lads and hungry bairns are all recurrent themes in their lovely, melancholy catalogue.