You Are Allowed to Enjoy This...

I’ll be honest with you. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to heading into London to see Robert Fripp perform at the most well-known cathedral in the UK. However, I made a promise a good few years back that I had to keep and it went something like this: “I really would love to hear RF’s guitar soundscapes in a church setting or somewhere suitably large like London’s IMAX cinema”. Well the IMAX cinema was out of the question, so when it was announced that Fripp was performing in churches around the UK, I just had to live up to my promise. In fact, The Missus was more looking forward to this day than I was, as she really wanted to see RF perform in this setting and had never visited St Paul’s before – despite walking past it many times on her way to work everyday.

On the tube journey into London, I was nervous. I always get nervous before a gig, but this time it seemed worse and I felt nervous nausea coming on me. It instantly reminded me of those long-forgotten holidays of years gone past, when I was a little boy and how I’d throw up in spectacular style on the way to the airport or on a car journey. Luckily, I kept myself in control.

We walked to the cathedral and did a little reconnaissance, as the last time I had visited was back in the days when I was seventeen. Then I had paid a visit with my student chums Ian and Fahim – in those days, a lad’s day out meant visiting cathedrals and museum. What an odd bunch we must have been. Realising that there were no big queues or anything amiss, we shared a sandwich and an orange juice on the steps of St Paul’s with the other lunch takers – some in their suits, some as tourists. A guy of certain standing walked past and The Missus felt her radar twitch.

“He’s one of the party,” she said cryptically. And lo and behold, he shouted into his mobile phone, “Toyah, I am outside of St Paul’s. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

I was dismissive of this, thinking he was talking to someone called “Tom”, but the Missus was adamant. There’s not that many people called Toyah around here, she argued. At least, we knew (quite obviously) that we were in the right place.

It was about 1 o’clock when we ventured inside. The man in the smart suit in front of us asked for a ticket to Robert Fripp and paid his cash. He thought it was expensive, but the lady at the counter said he could explore the rest of the cathedral. We paid our money and went through the barrier, stopping to take in the sheer magnificence of the building.

As we walked towards the dome, we noticed that a service was going on. We stood to the side and listened to the Reverend (or whatever rank he held) giving mass. I am not too hot on my denominational religion, so please forgive my ignorance in these matters. We listened and although my eyes were drawn to Robert Fripp’s guitar rig in the far corner, something caused me to turn my head and I saw the man himself stand up at the beginning of the final prayer. Never to disappoint, he was dressed head to toe in black and wearing a leather coat – on a hot June day! I made a quip about him changing into a Hawaiian T-Shirt and some Bermuda shorts.

St Paul's Cathedral at Night, November 2005

After the lunchtime mass was said, the congregation dispersed and we went to the front of the seats to claim our position. There were only a few of us about so it wasn’t like going to a rock gig where it is all elbows and tussling for position. I took my place in the centre of the semi-circle of chairs, so that I had direct view of the pulpit and Robert Fripp’s gear located under it. I made another quip to the Missus saying he should be playing from the pulpit. Oh what a wag I am!

Suddenly, a female verger appeared and began marking reserved seating in our row for Robert Fripp’s guests. I was worried I was going to have to change seats, but luckily she stopped right next to me and we didn’t have to move. A few minutes later, Robert Fripp’s guests turned up and Mrs Fripp (Toyah Willcox) was part of the party. Indeed, loud mobile phone man who we had heard earlier was in the group. Oh embarrassment, I was sitting right next to the guest party and who should I spy across the room, but old Sid Smith? Luckily, my chameleon-like features served me well and I just merged into the background.

Right on time, Robert Fripp appeared next to his gear and put on his blonde Fernandes and began to play. The low sound of arpeggiated bells filled the air and the performance began. He swapped back to his black Fernandes and took to his stool. Now I am not someone who will sit down and log every song that’s played and I am not particularly familiar with the recent soundscapes that have been performed by Fripp (apart from the Hot Tickles), so don’t expect any titles. Instead, I will describe what I felt.

When I go to any concert, I sit and I become a part of the performance. Today was no different and I found it very easy to disappear into the music. While many were at the cathedral to see the sites or to worship, I realised that I was also there in worship. To worship the music. For there was something deeply soulful to what I was hearing. As the music unfolded, I raised my eyes upwards and took in the architecture and the iconography of the saints above my head. The music felt old, reverential, in places primordial. During the middle section, a section that was very dense with lots of string samples, I felt my chest tighten and emotion pass through me.

All the while Fripp played, people milled around the performance area and there was a real sense of life happening outside the music. The ambient sound from behind of feet shuffling, of people talking, of the sound of the street, of a baby crying, all became part of the performance.

The DGM flyer handed out during the performance

It was interesting to hear Fripp solo over the soundscapes and I really enjoyed the tone of the solos. They too were very soulful, almost like a white man’s blues and they also were very transporting and reminiscent of the tones used on “The Equatorial Stars” CD. And then, as the performance drew to a close, the familiar bell motif appeared again. What I thought was fascinating was the pace of the performance. It wasn’t just a series of drones and bleeps – there was a real sense of a beginning, middle and an end – and you could sense when the end was upon you.

When the music had stopped, there was a nervous pause. Do we applaud or not? One plucky chap broke the silence and we all began to clap our praise. Fripp came forward, bowed to the right, bowed to the front, turned to the high altar and bowed and then bowed towards us. It was over.

I sat there literally drained by the performance. I had concentrated so hard during the last 30 minutes, I had forgotten the time – it felt like forever and I was so pleased to have made the effort to be at the performance. The Missus was also thrilled. She thought it was brilliant and agreed heartily that the best place to hear music of this kind is in a space such as a cathedral. It really does add a sense of time and space to the music. In comparison, soundscapes in a rock venue are utterly pointless and, in Fripp’s terminology, merely a love letter. If you want the bona fide, deep and soulful, change your life, kind of experience: check out the churchscapes.

After the performance, we did a circular of the cathedral and noted that Jakko Jockstrap was also there, chatting to Sid Smith. We looked at the gear close up: though I am no guitar tech-head anymore and I couldn’t identify any of the knobs and dials in front of me. Though I did look on in fondness at the Roland GR-1 on the floor, which reminded me of my own GR-1 that I had sold previously to upgrade. A nice bit of kit, I sighed.

We then did the proper tour of the cathedral and checked out the crypt and made the lung-busting climb up 530 stairs to the top of St Paul’s dome. I mistakenly took a photo of the ornate ceiling and got told off by the security man. I apologised profusely, as I had been so taken with the moment and beauty of the intricate dome. Up and up we climbed until we were outside, staring out over London. To the south, The Tate Modern and the South Bank, to the North the Post Office Tower, to the East Tower Bridge. I did my best to snap some shots but the weather had begun to change and storm clouds were moving in.

The journey back down was a lot easier that on the way up. The heat and lack of air made it hard going, but it wasn’t too bad a journey. We refreshed ourselves in St Paul’s gardens with a bottle of spring water and then headed home, hoping to beat the storm clouds. Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t going to let us win and the moment the train stopped at Debden station, the clouds deposited their cold cargo upon us. We were already wet as we left the station, so we walked briskly home, dodging the rain spots and the lightning bolts and thunderclaps, thoroughly getting soaked for our sins. It reminded us of all the times we had got caught in the rain before: when we saw Brian Eno talk at the Sadlers Wells theatre in 1991 and when we were celebrating my 30th birthday in Los Angeles and found ourselves in the Downtown area, a good 20 minute walk from the Marriott Hotel at which we were staying. Boy, those were big raindrops that particular day.

But home and dry, and despite the rain, it was a very good day. Norwich awaits!

PIX OF THE DAY

View upwards from the Whispering Gallery

Yours truly having a well-earned rest atop St Paul's

Don't look down

View North - Post Office Tower in the Distance

View South - The Tate Modern and Millennium Footbridge

View East - Tower Bridge and GLA Building (Hiding)

View West - Old Father Thames & Millennium Eye & LWT Building & Palace of Westminster (Hiding)

Click here for my review of Robert Fripp performing at Norwich Cathedral.