The God Of Hellfire brings you… costume changes
Whitby is known for 3 things - puffins, Dracula, and the two weekends a year when the goths rise up from their crypts for a Satanic town-wide takeover. They certainly owe a debt to Bram Stoker, but they might also credit one of the town’s finest ex-pats - shock-rock pioneer Arthur Brown.
The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown at Colchester Arts Centre, April 2024. Photo by One Man Underground.
Arthur Brown introduced us to his Crazy World in 1968 by proclaiming himself, “the God of Hellfire,” donning a flaming metal colander and more makeup than Liz Taylor in Cleopatra, and screaming, “FIRE.” 56 years later, aged 82, having lived about a dozen different lives that include directing an orchestra in Burundi, getting a master’s degree in counselling in Texas, sharing stages and studios with the likes of Hawkwind and Hendrix, playing a priest in both The Who’s ‘Tommy’ and a video for The Darkness, and being deported from Italy after stripping on stage… After all of that, he wound up at my local arts centre.
Despite cult fandom, The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown remains a one-hit wonder, albeit one who near single-handedly popularised the shock-rock pioneered by Screaming Jay Hawkins. So I had little idea what to expect as I ventured out of the bunker.
Arthur Brown gave one of the best rock shows I have seen in years.
Here Be Flagons at Colchester Arts Centre, April 2024. Photo by One Man Underground.
It began with the sound of horns from the back of the venue. “Living history band” Here Be Flagons weave their way through the audience, each brandishing a beautifully ornate 10-foot long iron carnyx. It’s not only an indication that we’re about to watch something very special, but also a moment of envy that I cannot open my live shows with a band of horn players. Yet.
With Here Be Flagons at the back of the stage, the full band, led since the year 2000 by Jim Mortimore alongside fellow multi-instrumentalist Dan Smith and drummer Samuel Walker, take to the front. Finally, resplendent in a look I can best describe as “nautical-glam,” daubed in beautifully extravagant make up, Brown walks on to lead the band through non-album tracks ’Bubbles’ and ’Nature’.
Showmanship is impeccable, with costume changes accompanying every song, and an energy and agility performers half Brown’s age might struggle to maintain. His voice, alternately operatic, spoken, and banshee-esque, is as powerful today as it was on record in the 60’s. His band are tight as a drum when they need to be, and otherwise free and psychedelic. While I cannot imagine the shock and horror many apparently experienced when first encountering him back in the 60’s, here in the 2020’s, it is an absolute joy to experience.
The crazy outfits of Arthur Brown. Photo by One Man Underground.
It is true that I was unfamiliar with the opening two songs, and indeed most of the numbers performed this evening. But early on in the set, Brown gave the people exactly what they came for. Anyone familiar with the A-side of his eponymous debut album knew from the moment the band played the opening notes of ‘Prelude - Nightmare’ where this was heading. And so, metal horns atop his head, assisted by his lighter-wielding partner, he well and truly justifies the price of admission.
“This next song is brought to you by Burger King.” Photo by One Man Underground.
We’re not even halfway through the show, yet it is to his immense credit that, despite my ignorance of his repertoire (an error I am currently working to correct), the show is so good that this doesn’t matter. The audience remain in the palm of his hand for every last second (not to mention a suitably freakish psych-out encore), even when mic feedback threatens to derail the performance towards the end.
It’s only April, and I may have already seen one of the best shows of the year, from a man who proves not only that one-hit wonder status is no barrier to success, but that Whitby’s legacy of terror should go far beyond one fanged blood-sucker. Here’s to another 82 years.
P.S. Dues must also be paid to local support act Valhallans, who played a blistering half-hour of sludgy psychedelia. These are dues I give for no other reason than it’s always a pleasure to see local legend, heroic veggie chilli cook, and friend, Mick ‘The Hippy’ Newman, on stage.
