The Axeman Cometh

Last night in Belfast, Andy White played his first album in entirety. The return to 'Rave On...' was a strangely moving experience, a return to 1986 and all that. He was supported by the old firm of sister Cathy on vocals and Rod McVey on the Hammond organ, gurgling and riffing, the Al Kooper to Andy's Bob Dylan.

It was achievement enough to remember all the words that young Andy had committed to vinyl, a splurge of poetry, self-consciousness and beat whimsy. But he delivered it well, and chose not to comment on his own juvenilia. Which was just as well, as the music has survived the times. Actually, I remember feeling uneasy back in 1986 about the many references to Belfast and the intense situation. But hearing it 22 years on, and that body of work summons up plenty of the tension, the dread and the absurdity of it all.

Many other people in the audience were affected by the flashbacks. Not so much the big tunes like 'Religious Persuasion' and 'Reality Row'. More so the desperate rush of 'The Rain Dance' and the word bombs of 'The Walking Wounded'. There's a scene in a latter lyric, where one of our psychotic exports is waylaid in the Heathrow Departure Lounge. The axeman is on a guaranteed standby ticket, and suddenly I remember the appalling tone of the age, when a visit to England was a brutal operation, harassed and herded to a holding pen out of harm's way. I could taste the stress and the petty havoc of such scenes.

In terms of the Troubles legacy, it's not a critical detail, and there were thousands of more demeaning acts. But that vision opened up a whole layer of memories for us last night. It shook us up. I thank the young Andy for noticing it, and to the mature artist for bringing it home again.