Iron & Wine, Union Chapel, London

So, Sam Beam (might have) called me after his Union Chapel show, and I (might have) recorded it for training purposes. These are (possibly) the edited highlights:

Sam Beam: Dave, hey, it’s Sam here.

Dave Rowlinson: Sorry, Sam who?

SB: Erm, Sam, Samuel Beam. Y’know, Iron & Wine? You came to my show last night, though I noticed you sat right up high?

DR: Right, Sam, hey, yeah I was there last night, would love to have sat downstairs, but the Chapel operates a very strict rule of the cardigan. Get there ten minutes after doors open and every pew is covered in tatty knitwear, like beach towels on sun beds, but with a far more pasty clientele. Get there when everyone’s at the bar and the debris looks like God has been busy smiting sweet little geeks for worshipping you in there rather than him.

SB: Whoah! They worship me?

DR: Sure they do, did you not feel the hushed reverence in there? Can you not feel them hanging off your every word? People take Iron & Wine real serious. Last night was an occasion. Do you not know how sold out it was? I almost felt guilty being there, using up one of the precious tickets.

SB: Guilty? Why? Don’t you worship me Dave?

DR: Erm, honestly? No, no I don’t. I don’t know why really. I’m not being horrid, and I do like your music, but there’s something just not quite there for me. I’ve tried, I really have. I’ve listened to the records, and out of all of them the one with the dog on the front is the my favourite…

SB: Not many people say that.

DR: I know, I know, see I don’t even get which album is meant to be best. Look Sam, don’t take it personally, because in theory you’re doing everything right. If someone asked me to describe the music I love it’d sound like I was talking about your records. Gorgeous, gentle, almost ageless Americana, evocative of all the things its so easy to romanticise about when I think of your country. I want to hear the unfathomable vastness of deserts and mountain ranges seen through trucker’s eyes straining from too much black coffee. And there were times last night when it all came together. When that voice of yours soared through Flightless Bird, American Mouth I was spellbound, it was really beautiful.

SB: I played that first though.

DR: I know, but there was more, there were other sublime moments, and I promise you other people loved it, and I promise you I wanted to love it. But it just lacked a bit of edge. There was nothing I could really get my teeth into, it just had no, I dunno… meat, or something. Sorry, but it was too easy to drift, too easy to sit back and let it all wash over me, too often it sounded real pretty, but just lacked character.

You know the film City Slickers? Obviously it’s a classic, and I’d be pretty happy sitting back, admiring the scenery, watching the cows running around, revelling in Billy Crystal saying ‘hello’ and ‘Norman’ in a funny voice. And if those boys herded those cows, and ran them to the ranch and it all went smoothly it’d be a good film still. But it’s the drama between those boys that makes it special, that gives it the edge that’s needed to make a connection. Watching them struggle to overcome the challenges of nature, life, love and everything else under the stars - that’s why there’s a connection, that’s why it’s real. And I’m sorry Sam, but I’m not connecting to you, it doesn’t feel real, most of the time all I get from you is pretty cows running around pretty mountains.

SB: I always hated that movie.

DR: Really? Well, maybe that’s we don’t connect Sam. Sam? Sam? Oh…

Disclaimer: Some of the events contained within this ‘review’ may not have actually happened.