This review of Mark Knopfler has to begin with a disclaimer. He first became popular at a time that I had abandoned rock music in order to cross the Jordan for the Milk and Honey of jazz. Eschewing any type of popular music that contained lyrics (having been burned out by negativity, nihilism and misogyny), I devoured all things jazz for about 15 years, taking my friends to see “real” guitarists like Burrell, Ritenour, Stern and Metheny in small cozy clubs where people truly appreciated artistry for its own sake.
Well, Kevin, one of the buddies I take with me to see these guitarists, kept bugging me to see Knopfler, as “he’s just as good, and is a real musician. He’s not a poser.” So, heading back to a “rock” concert, I wasn’t sure what to anticipate. Yes, the crowds are still a bit boisterous, with people either shouting for their favorite songs, or singing along WITH their favorite songs, but his fans around us were extremely loyal. “You better write something good. This guys THE BEST” the fans around me saying, although they all were enjoying the brew as well as the music.
Anyway, I digressed. As for the music, Knopfler came out with an impressive band that consisted of Richard Bennett/g, Guy Fletcher/key-g, Jim Cox-key-acc, Glenn Worf/b and the intriguing inclusion of Michael McGoldrick/pips-whistle with John Vcusker/violin-cittern while Nigle Hitchcock came with his tenor sax for a few tunes. Each musician not only played a variety of instruments, but played them with authority; it’s no easy feat for a guy like Bennett to be adept at things ranging from mandolins to churangos, but he made it look easy.
In fact, that was the whole theme of the 2 hour show. Knopfler came on stage and, yes, he displayed formidable guitar skills on “What It Is” and the climactic “Telegraph Road,” but what was actually impressive was how UN-impressive he was. Understated, tasteful and unpretentious, he treated his music the way a gourmet chef approaches a meal; lets the simple ingredients do all of the work and speak for themselves. No flash, in fact for a good part of the show you might think you were in some pub in Limerick or Galway, as he used the pipes and strings to create Gaellic atmospheres on “Privateering” and “Father and Son” that were as intimate as a cozy night sing along with some friends and a Guinness. Other times Knopfler took the role as an American troubadour, telling folk tales on “Hill Farmers’ Blues” that made you feel like you were in the Cumberland gap, or in a Chicago juke joint on the south side with “Song For Sonny Liston.” Whether taking you a trip to South America, “Postcards from Paraguay’ or opening his thoughts on broken relationships on “Romeo and Juliet,” he displayed not only the musicality of an artist, but the composing skills of someone who is worthy of other artists attempting his songbook.
By the time he closed with the anthem-like “Going Home”, Knopfler, while taking the audience on a sonic journey, linked every piece of the show like a Raphael tapestry, with the connecting thread being the blues, which, like butter, makes all things taste better. An excellent night of true musicality.