Connie Lush – There She Is

When I was sixteen, I stood on the stage at The Hamlet in Birkenhead with my band and attempted to entertain a room that wasn’t particularly interested in listening to us.

In fairness, I couldn’t blame them.

We had been given the unenviable task of playing during the interval of The Touch, fronted by the extraordinary Connie Lush.

We were enthusiastic and very much still learning our craft. Connie was already the real thing.

That night, though, she gave me a compliment.

I don’t remember exactly what she said. I remember how it made me feel.

Over the years, Connie became a friend, but she never stopped being one of my musical idols.

So, on Friday 4th September, sitting inside Thornton Hough Village Club waiting for her to take to the stage, this one felt personal.

Because this wasn’t just another Connie Lush gig.

It was the first time she had performed without her beloved husband and bass player, Terry, beside her.

Anyone who knew Connie and Terry knew they were far more than husband and wife.

They were a partnership.

On stage and off it.

For so many years, seeing Connie perform meant seeing Terry standing to her left.

This time, he wouldn’t be there.

Thornton Hough Village Club was perhaps the perfect place for such a night.

It’s one of those venues that reminds you what live music should be about. Intimate, friendly and run by people who genuinely care about the music.

Neil somehow manages to be sound engineer, organiser, occasional barman and general keeper of everything running smoothly. The drinks are inexpensive, the bar moves quickly and the staff actually smile at you.

Sometimes you don’t need an arena.

You just need a room full of people who want to listen.

The evening opened with Davy Edge, a talented poet, songwriter and musician who also happens to be a thoroughly nice bloke.

His set mixed self-penned material with familiar songs, but two in particular stood out for me, I Don’t Want to Fall in Love, I Thought I Felt It Rain and Autumn Leaves.

Armed with guitar, harmonica and plenty of stage presence, Davy has that lovely ability to make a song feel as though he’s telling it directly to you.

After a short break, Aethelred’s Bluesmen took over.

Feels Like Rain, Little Red Rooster, Handbags and Gladrags, original material and some wonderful harmonica playing from a frontman who seemed to physically wrestle every note from the microphone.

His face twisted around it as he sang, completely lost in the music.

They even threw in Whitesnake’s Walking in the Shadow of the Blues.

Not one of my favourites, I have to admit.

But they did it well.

Then came the moment everyone had really been waiting for.

Davy returned to the stage with Mike Neary on keyboards and together they welcomed Connie Lush.

There clearly hadn’t been weeks of meticulous rehearsal.

Nobody cared.

This wasn’t about perfection.

For the first song, Connie seemed to hold back.

Understandably so.

The space beside her must have felt enormous.

Then something happened.

Halfway through the second song, I heard myself say it out loud.

“There she is.”

And there she was.

Connie Lush was back.

That voice.

I’ve tried to describe Connie’s voice many times over the years, but the best description I can give you is not mine : A voice that sounds like a 2am whiskey.

Warm.

Smoky.

A little dangerous.

And once you’ve heard it, completely unmistakable.

She sang as though she had never been away.

Summertime, her mum’s favourite, was beautifully delivered, followed by Nobody’s Fault But Mine.

The hesitation had disappeared.

The voice hadn’t.

If anything, hearing it again reminded me just how special a singer Connie Lush is.

There were no original songs on this occasion, which was a shame, but I quickly forgave her when she launched into two of my favourites, Built for Comfort and I’d Rather Go Blind, joined once again by Aethelred’s Bluesmen.

By then, the woman I had watched so many times over the years was completely back in command.

At the end, the room rose to its feet.

So did I.

It wasn’t simply applause for a great singer.

It felt like something more.

There are moments in live music when the songs almost become secondary to what is happening on the stage.

This was one of them.

I thought back to being sixteen years old at The Hamlet, looking up to this incredible woman who had taken the time to say something kind to a young singer who was still finding her feet.

All these years later, I found myself watching Connie finding hers again.

Without Terry beside her.

That couldn’t have been easy.

But she walked onto that stage and did what Connie Lush has always done.

She sang the blues.

And somewhere during that second song, the nerves disappeared, the voice soared and an old friend returned.

There she is.

 

The evening was hosted by The Wirral Blues Club.