The Marseille Figs have effected a brilliant collision of folk styles. The suited, trilby-ed trio occupy the centre of a Venn diagram connecting country, blues, punk, oompah and jumping jive music. It is an entertaining and novel acoustic sound driven by assertive vocals embedded in well-crafted songs.
It is not only their music that is boundary crossing. The band itself has roots in three European countries. Frontman and former artist J. Maizlich resides in Berlin (but still keeps a foot in his earlier profession, most recently working with artist Marcia Farquhar), while accordionist Dorian McFarland and saxophonist Tom Chant have established presences in London and Barcelona. Marseille holds its place in the band’s history as the city where Maizlich met McFarland at an art show. The importance of figs is not apparent.
For this, the launch of their new record The Dirty Canon, the Figs doubled their number. Founder-Pogue and visual artist Jem Finer, who had a hand in producing the record, plucked a banjo, while the rhythm section comprised another Pogue, drummer Andrew Rankin, and experimental double bassist John Edwards, whose backing was neither too rigid nor too elastic, but elegantly pinned the songs down.
Whistling through two sharp sets but struggling against a poor sound mix, the band peppered their album material with some covers. They gave Chuck Berry’s “Memphis” more desperation than Elvis did and invested Disney’s schmaltzy “When You Wish Upon A Star” with a spooky chill. But it was in their own material that the band really shone. “Skin and Bones”, with Tom Waits-like lyrics (“Who’s that little girl with a glassy eye”) and a darkside “Sunny Afternoon” Kinks-like chord structure, was a sound jamboree: Finer drew a violin bow across his banjo, which fused with the solid, throbbing bass and rattling tambourine to great effect. Throughout the set the ensemble switched between instruments – saxes, flugelhorns, melodicas, trombones, accordions, guitars and ukuleles were all given a good airing.
The wonderful fading splendour of the George Tavern – a hostelry whose future is in the hands of the Tower Hamlets planning department – contributed to the demi-monde feel of a show that had the raw soul of rock’n’roll.
