Wildhearts & Wurlitzers

Ben Wildsmith

It’s my birthday tomorrow, so an anxious night awaits as I lie sleepless with anticipation as to whether, after 52 years, I will finally receive a Scalextric or Action Man with gripping hands.

As a creature of abominable habits, the proximity of my big day to that of the little baby Jesus has traditionally led to several weeks of heath-ruining excess ending sometime in Mid-January in a state of physical decrepitude and spiritual disintegration.

Despite all sorts of promises to myself that this year would be different, I’m already on the well-trodden path and haven’t even opened any M&S socks yet.

My works do on Friday set the hare running, as a stressful year melted into near-hysterical alcoholic jubilation amongst the team. Turns out we all love each other very much although precisely what was said by who to whom amidst riotous scenes at The Borough on St Mary’s Street will forever be lost to history. Probably for the best.

Coping with hangovers requires regular practice and my once-yearly descent into dry-mouthed, head-drilling misery was all the more harrowing for its rarity. The body doesn’t appreciate lapses into historical modes of living it had assumed were safely behind it.

So, with a full slate of seasonal activities in the book for Saturday, mine wasn’t granting any mercy.

It was, seemingly, a day of almost comical contrasts. After doing the necessary with pints of water, paracetamol, and hastily acquired religion, I set out, with Mrs W, to try something new.

Down the road from us, one of the repurposed chapels in the area is home to a quite extraordinary shrine to the music of our recent past.

Paul Kirner’s Music Palace houses a collection of theatre organs and yesterday afternoon they held a free Christmas concert.

The interior of the chapel is a beautiful setting, and it had been decorated for the season by the Palace’s volunteers, who come from as far away as Kent to maintain this place and the stunning instruments it houses.

Over a couple of hours, three talented musicians played these extraordinary instruments that rise through the floor, change colour, trigger a separate automatic piano, and fill the room with lush orchestrations, through pipes hidden in the walls.

A packed house enjoyed Christmas favourites and pieces composed especially to showcase the instruments’ capabilities. My physical distress melted away to the jaunty melody of Penguins’ Playtime and the goodwill amongst everyone there. It’s lovely, you should go.

A couple of hours and a bus ride later, we were in the Muni at Pontypridd and Ginger from The Wildhearts had a service announcement before the show started.

In his warm, South Shields tones, he explained,

‘Listen Ponty, I’ve got some kind of health issue happening. I’ll get it sorted when I get home but there was no way we were cancelling these gigs so, if I keel over, don’t worry! I’ll go backstage, take some fuckin’ painkillers and come back on, alright? One, two, three, four…’

The Wildhearts are Rock n Roll as generosity. From the fat, crunchy tones, to the grins, the soaring harmonies, and the barrage of tricksy, satisfying riffs, they give you everything they’ve got for your ticket price.

Intensity

Lurching from punk to metal to stadium rock to prog to Beatlesy pop, often within the same song, you’re getting it all at 100% intensity and the stylish elan of veteran professionals who love what they do.

The crowd, just like earlier, is transported. Away from the fights on Taff Street, away from the news, maybe back in time, maybe just into our real selves.

As another year starts for me, and the little baby Jesus, I’m struck by how rooms of people lost in music are still the world to me just as they always have been.

Whatever’s going on in the world, or our own lives, experiencing harmonies and rhythms together will make it better. We grow old with the tunes we grew up on and learn some more along the way if we’re sensible.

Through Wurlitzer organs or Gibson Les Pauls, we’re enchanted, soothed, and thrilled our whole lives. Thank God for music, and for each other.

Check out Paul Kirner’s Music Palace here.