Dean Friedman at The Artrix, Bromsgrove, Sunday 25 September
Not everyone can remember who Dean Friedman is. My sister, Jan, for instance. So we tried singing her a few snatches of his hits from 1977-78 ... Lydia and Ariel and Lucky Stars ... but she still couldn't quite get it. By contrast, my brother Phil had fond memories of the album Well, Well, Said the Rocking Chair which I'd bought in 1978 – around the same time that I added Kate Bush's The Kick Inside to my record collection. 1978 was a great year for quirky, piano-playing singer-songwriters with unique vocal styles. Phil told me he'd been listening to Dean's back catalogue on Spotify and I happened to know that Dean was touring again – so we caught up with him in the intimate surroundings of Bromsgrove's Artrix.
Dean was supported by Michael Armstrong - a performer whose version of Allentown sounds more like Billy Joel than Billy Joel. After some original songs and covers from Michael it was time for the main man.
Dean regaled us all with beautiful versions of many of his more lyrical songs - including Company, Shopping Bag Ladies and Saturday Fathers – but was also unexpectedly funny and self-deprecating. He mused that, when we had told our friends or colleagues we were going to see Dean Friedman, we were probably met with the reaction 'Dean who?' He also talked about the band Half Man, Half Biscuit, who had recorded a song called The Bastard Son of Dean Friedman. Dean had written his own riposte to this in the form of A Baker's Tale, in which he speculates upon the real origins of Half Man Half Biscuit's Nigel Blackwell. In a similar darkly comic vein Death to the Neighbours is viciously hilarious.
With rosy cheeks, white beard and a mane of white hair, Dean wouldn't look out of place starring in a remake of Miracle on 34th Street. As a performer he is as engaging and impressive as ever - his voice still soaring and powerful on Ariel, leading us onward to a touching version of Lucky Stars in which the audience has to sing the part originally sung by Denise Marsa. The result is Dean dueting with his audience ... women of a certain age – and some very deep-voiced men – unashamedly singing the call and response:
Do you still love me?
Yes, I still love you.
You mean, you're not just being nice?
No, I'm not just being nice.
Do you feel sleepy?
Aw, you're so sincere. Yes, I feel sleepy.
Well, slide over here ...