Just eleven days ago I was sitting next to Wizz Jones. We were in the literature tent at the Green Man Festival listening to Will Hodgkinson. We didn't speak. Unfortunately though I missed the set that Wizz and Simeon played on Sunday night because we were seeing Herman Düne instead (they only tour occasionally; Wizz and Simeon play regularly not far from us).
I think I first heard of Wizz Jones through a documentary about Ramblin' Jack Elliott. After moving to London, the opportunities to see him increased significantly. In spring 2004 he started a weekly residency at Niksons Bar & Restaurant. I went there on 28 March and persuaded Lucy to join me for a bit.
It was one of the most embarrassing gigs I've ever been to. I hate the feeling of that part of south west London: it's even worse than East Dulwich; full of rugger bugger overpaid professionals. The closest they get to culture is a bit of fresh mozzarella drizzled with organic balsamic vinegar. The patrons of Niksons completely ignored Wizz. Most had their backs turned turned to him, and if it hadn't been for us leading the applause — we took a table right up close to him to ensure we could actually hear him over the ambience of guffaws — the music might as well have been on tape. Perhaps professional musicians have to inure themselves to that kind of treatment, but I felt a rage and resentment on his behalf. I wanted to shake those people and force them to read Ralph McTell's appreciation.
I bought this CD in the break at the end of Wizz's first set. He explained that Simeon (his son) had been detained because he was separated from his partner and had had difficulty getting a babysitter for his (Simeon's) child. Having made our gesture of support, I think we left, unable to bear it any more. One benefit of that evening is that I now have a girlfriend who can say, at 50 yards, "Oh look, there's Wizz Jones!", which makes a man proud. I see his residency has since moved to another part of south west London.
In partial defence of the Clapham spiessburgers, I think it's easy to underestimate Wizz's music, and I did when I first listened to this album. There's nothing showy about it, nothing dramatic enough to grab your ears. But I reckon this collection of songs by Mose Allison, Bert Jansch and a few originals could grow on me a lot if I gave it time.
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 MusicBrainz entry for this album
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