A Shaw Thing

Did I leave the feckin’ gas on…?

s with so many music lovers of a certain vintage, there was a moment in Ian Shaw’s formative years when he stared in Bowie’s eyes and scored.

It was a spark of recognition, a searing, piercing, joyous affirmation that it wasn’t okay to be different.

It was amazing.

The artist as a very young man…

Taking on the Great American Songbook at The Whale this Saturday, April 29th alongside renowned saxophonist Iain Ballamy (Loose Tubes, Quercus) and rising star pianist Jamie Safir, the two-time UK Jazz Singer Of The Year winner Ian Shaw took time out for GG to reveal his musical roots.

And those songs that can still make him break down and cry…

I’m pretty sure the first thing I heard as a kid growing up in the brass band- and male-voice choir-soaked Clwydian foothills was Cilla Black doing You’ve Lost That Loving Feelin’.

An auspicious yet, for me, very affecting memory of the extreme singing that wasn’t the Ella, Frank, Doris, Nat, Sarah Vaughan sounds that sang out on a Sunday morning radio (my mother ironed to Two-Way Family Favourites for thirty years).

As a young teen, it was the records that my dad brought home that made me want to sing. Aretha’s Natural Woman, Ray Charles doing Yesterday and definitely the late sixties Nancy Wilson records – all played and played. And mimicked. Hair brush, the lot.

Mikes Davis’ Bitches Brew snuck into the coffin on legs in the parlour and eventually, the LP storage end of the old Rediffusion Radiogram became all mine. I added early Earth, Wind and Fire (Fantasy, with its suspended chords and massive production, was a go-to). The Ella Songbooks on Verve were seminal. Ten Cents A Dance by Rogers and Hart I loved. In 1976, Tim Jones played me Stevie’s Songs In The Key of Life – I couldn’t believe its beauty and power. Dad got it for Christmas. I nicked it.

In 1979, my schoolmate, George – a troubled lad – handed me Joni’s The Hissing of Summer Lawns. Mind-altering arrangements and weird yet oddly not weird lyrics.

I was always the Bowie freak at school. The big boys were into Slade, Floyd or Springsteen, but Drive-In Saturday with its mysterious instrumentation and genreless tone mystified me. Still does. I began checking and cross-referencing the players on sleeve notes, especially the US sessioneers.

I came to London and – Pow!– jazz. It was everywhere. The clubs, pubs, record shops. And as my deeply dull university music undergraduate studies groaned on, I jumped in. Mole Jazz, Honest Johns, Ray’s… these were my treasure troves. I found Bill Evans, Coltrane, more Miles, Bird, the ECM scene (Jan Garbarek). And always the singers.

They were out there, gigging, inches away: Carol Grimes, Georgie Fame, Madeline Bell (who I met doing the piano bars in Spain). The ‘free’ crew: Phil Minton, Maggie Nichols. The poets: Patience Agbabi, Lemn Sissay, Jackie Kay, John Cooper Clarke, Ben Zephania. But most importantly, there was the life-changing meeting with the greatest jazz singer I have ever heard, Mark Murphy. Bliss.

I began to gig, firstly on the comedy and cabaret scenes, then a fluke booking at Ronnie Scott’s came in.

Dave Illic called me a jazz singer – and my fate was sealed…

Cilla Black You’ve Lost That Loving Feelin’
Couldn’t believe (from my pram) the ‘whoah whoah whoah‘ and the extreme nasal sound of Cilla’s delivery. And the build towards the last chorus.

Aretha Franklin (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman
I’d heard Carole King’s original (on Tapestry) and when I heard Aretha’s take on the Alan Yentob Cracked Actor Bowie film, with Bowie miming the ‘bah-ooh‘ backing vocals, I was awestruck by the gospel piano and those backing vocals. And that voice? Informed my whole vision of re-imagining bland pop songs.

Miles Davis Pharaoh’s Dance
From the opening silly theme over the insistent Lenny White straight brush quavers to the sheer virtuosity of the short soloist bursts, weird and hypnotic. Made me want a Wurlitzer and a Rhodes.

Mark Murphy Red Clay
Or ‘On’ The Red Clay (so Freddie Hubbard got 50 percent of publishing) is Murph at his most direct. Questioning lyrics (ripping off land from the First Nationals) and his weaving and swooping over Freddie’s classic tune. Impeccable.

Jan Garbarek Entering
Couldn’t believe how simple and hymnal melody writing could be. The unexpected chord clashes, that glacial tone. Still, almost.

Stevie Wonder Summer Soft
Stevie sounding like early summer, then bursting into July for the chorus. Yes.

Joni Mitchell In France They Kiss On Main Street (live)
The story, the specificity of remembered images, the playful riff on ‘rock and rolling‘.  And one of her best lines ever; ‘Gail and Louise in their push-up brassieres, tight dresses and rhinestone rings, drinking up the band’s beers.’ Genius.

Earth, Wind & Fire Fantasy
The harpsichord and Bachian intro, then, epic funk. And made me sing falsetto. Well, screech.

David Bowie Drive-In Saturday
Sounded so unearthly to a very earthed eleven year old Welsh boy. Took me years to work out the chords. And longer to realise that ‘Twig the wonder kid‘ was Twiggy, the model. ‘Jung the foreman prayed at work‘?

Ian Shaw plays at The Whale on Saturday 29th as part of the Bray Jazz Festival – tickets here. You can find out more about the man himself here.