A glimmer of light in the wasteland

First off, a disclaimer: the following words of praise for a particular locale (to be referred to as ‘The Coach and Horses’) are wholly the author’s opinion, and not coerced from irate organisers or ‘sponsored’ via the medium of free drinks. All clear? Good. 

I’ll admit I have something a personal interest in The Coach and and Horses. My current Birkirkara home town might be Malta’s most populous town, but it’s also the hangout spot equivalent of a wasteland. Until a few months back, when the aforementioned bar (sited in Valley Road, of all places) was energetically taken over and changed into the current Hot New Place.

The quite packed events calendar and economically-priced drink don’t hurt too much, either. If you haven’t already, check them out on Facebook. It also manages to serve as a fairly good spot for gigs of the ‘small and intimate’ variety. Just over two months ago it was host to British songster Patrick Duff – and what a memorable night that was.

So expectations were reasonably set on ‘high’ for Pete Molinari’s appearance on the rock. Another Brit – actually part Maltese – he left his native Chatham, Kent, to hunt his fortune in as a country blues performer at the Big Apple itself. And that’s before returning back to the Medway Delta to record his first two albums. The rest, as they say, is musical history.

Thus I headed towards gig on Saturday night. From experience it’s a fact that such events never, ever happen on time. The official starting time was 21:00. Line checks kicked off at 21:15. Mr Molinari took to the stage (it’s not an actual stage, but whatever) sometime after 22:30. Don’t take this as a complaint, it’s just me recording everything, for posterity’s sake.

Molinari’s music, especially in this solo appearance (he usually plays with a band), can be described as ‘simple’. Not simplistic, mind. Never that. All he used are a single guitar and a set of harmonicas. The real star of the show is his voice, which is as distinctive and piercing as anything coming out of the American South, the musical equivalent of sweat and tears. Coupled with that is at times virtuoso lyrical storytelling, thanks to some unusually strong song writing. Played live, this was powerful stuff.

Opening the night was his Love Lies Bleeding, memorable for its mentioning an Elaine, which happens to be the name of a new friend I made on the night (if you’re reading this – hey there!). Molinari admitted to not having a set playlist, a fact I still find rather endearing. He even attempted a couple of his rockier numbers, such as Sweet Louise, which is nothing to be sniffed at.

A highlight that really sticks to mind was Anthem of Doomed Youth – a topically anti-war bluegrass riff on Wilfred Owen’s WWI poetry.  The singing went on for what I believe were around  90 spellbinding minutes. An evening worth attending? Why, definitely. Even if a few of the attendees need to attend lessons on music appreciation and etiquette. For shame.

After the night’s music Mr Molinari and his lady friend were met for a second time, this time at that culinary institution, Msida’s Sofra’s Kebab House. There’s no language as universal as the promise of greasy foodstuffs at a late hour, the better to soak up the alcohol with.

As my companions and I sat to scarf down our meals, the place’s TVs played a channel showing pop nonsense of a particularly hideous variety. One of our number informed us all the songs came from the so-called ‘Pussycat Dolls’.
It all sounded like same headache-inducing breed of noise to me, so I won’t argue with that.