Credit: Found On Internet

Ennio Morrincone
Hammersmith Apollo
I definitely not qualified to review this orchestra, not worthy by any stretch of the imagination. But it is saturday night and 69 year old Italian Film Composer is taking the stage and control of roughly 200 people on stage here at the Hammersmith Apollo. We are sitting here underneath the Bass players we are unfortunately not blessed with sight of the entire orchestra and just have to marvel in the deep rich bass sound and how the hell it is made. And what a sight it is: that sinister rumble you hear in films full of dread was great to watch. The slow move of the bow or the plucking of those thick strings is sight.

At the back the Crouch End Chorus hollers out a classic chant a lot of open mouths as the almost hundred strong orchestra bellows out. Morrincone walks with a healthy strut and seems in very good shape for a near 70 year old.

The Cellists seem to relish in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Looking at each other like teenagers having a race around town on their scooters. The Harpiest was a character and obviously was enjoying the occasion. Also to my surprise spotted my mate Ali’s mum belting out wails to the most famous of western themes.

All the songs are incredibly layered, intricate weaved layers of instruments, sometimes funk laden with a groovy drumbeat driving us through seventies soundtracks. At other times deep ancient rumbling that implied the imminent doom of our souls. It was one if not the best gigs of the year, stirring emotion from all corners of the auditorium

I am merrily uninformed as the rest of the audience isn’t. On the encores they cry for Cinema Paradiso, I don’t know if they got it, Is that the Stella theme tune? If so they didn’t play it.

On the way home we went via

The Enemy
Frog @ Mean Fiddler
Installing a different emotion is the Enemy. An emotion of mild violence, feeling the need to beat up the three teenagers on the stage. Don’t know what part of mixing Liam Gallagher with Chris Petch (Some c*nt that threw chewing gum in my hair when I was 13, and poured lighter fluid over some local teenager) makes for a good front man. The seething attitude coming from this pipsqueak makes me want to bury him six feet under. His ‘I have arrived’ swagger round the stage as he assumes that the beer being thrown at him is a sign of affection makes me feel sick.