I have a friend who insists that had Status Quo hailed from Düsseldorf rather than Catford, they would nowadays be as critically revered as Can, Faust, Neu! and those other hallowed Teutonic pioneers of unyielding rhythm from the 1970s.
Maybe so. Very probably not. Canned Heat and ZZ Top seem more reachable comparisons. But it’s true that ‘the Quo’ have been underestimated and unjustly derided throughout their six-decade career, not least by themselves. The band has happily perpetuated their position as rock and roll neanderthals: a 2007 album is titled In Search Of The Fourth Chord.
There was always a little more to it than that. Personally, I have always divined a terrible sadness at the heart of their music. Like most court jesters, Status Quo internalise great loneliness and despair. Consider the regretful pills-and-powder sentiments of songs such as ‘Marguerita Time’, ‘Living On An Island’, ‘Down Down’ and ‘What You’re Proposing’, made all the more doleful by the bleached stoicism of Francis Rossi’s pinched voice. Their prototypical heads-down Ur-boogie, meanwhile, is the cosmic hamster’s wheel made sound, a pitch perfect aural representation of the existential treadmill.
Inelegantly billed as ‘An Evening of Francis Rossi’s Songs from the Status Quo Songbook and More’, this two-man touring show offers a corrective to the established Quo-text, though I very much doubt that is the intention.
Having lost his brother in arms, Rick Parfitt, to a heart attack in 2016, Rossi is joined by second guitarist and backing vocalist Andy Brook. Supplied with nifty Fender Acoustasonic semi-acoustic guitars, the pair perch on a couple of red easy chairs, separated by a small table adorned with a green desk lamp. Throughout, they do their level best to play as though kicking back on a porch rather than performing on stage.
Though the ponytail is long gone – Brook appears to have inherited it; perhaps it is stipulated in the contract that somebody has to wear one – and these days the waistcoat is silk rather than denim, at 75 Rossi remains supple and sharp. His voice is both effective and oddly affecting in a more intimate setting, while the three-chord cliché is quickly and firmly put to bed. He is a fine lead guitar player, the innate bluesy feel displayed early on ‘In My Chair’ reprised many times thereafter.
Personally, I have always divined a terrible sadness at the heart of Status Quo’s music
As a raconteur, Rossi is no Peter Ustinov. One gets the sense that he’s not a man accustomed to following a script, but any lack of polish is compensated by chatty, amiable self-deprecation, as he guides a sold-out crowd through the highs (more than £1,000 a week spent on cocaine back in the day) and lows (same) of his life in music.
Musically, the pared-down format allows for a degree of expansionism. The inclusion of relative obscurities from Status Quo’s early days, such as ‘Claudie’, ‘Spinning Wheel Blues’ and ‘Someone Show Me Home’, is welcome. A woozy version of ‘Pictures Of Matchstick Men’ rescues Status Quo’s first hit, in 1967, from ersatz psychedelia. ‘Tongue Tied’, a more recent song, adds further substance to the notion of Rossi as a wearied suburban philosopher: ‘Why does living go so fast?’ he sings as a roomful of his contemporaries nod, as though head-banging in slow motion.
A certain amount of repetitiveness is hardwired into these songs, but Rossi does his best to keep things fresh. He revisits Quo’s cover of Hank Thompson’s country kiss-off, ‘The Wild Side Of Life’, and elsewhere changes keys and alters arrangements. Some songs are a lost cause. I could happily live without hearing ‘In The Army Now’ and ‘Burning Bridges’ ever again, but the propulsive ‘Down Down’ and chugging ‘Roll Over Lay Down’ power along even in a lower gear.
‘Rockin’ All Over The World’ isn’t a Status Quo original. It was written by John Fogerty but the band long ago claimed definitive squatter’s rights. Tonight, it gets the faithful up on their feet and by the evening’s end Rossi has followed suit, creaking a little for comic effect. Beneath the blokeish banter and bonhomie, however, a quiet pride in the songs he has written and his musical proficiency shines through, as well it might.
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