At the start of this month, Guy, Annie and I went over to Putney to see Robin Williamson and John Renbourn. Williamson, particularly, seemed to be on good form, and in good shape — he'd lost some weight since last time I saw him. This got me pondering when I had last seen him. Twice at the Barbican. Once as part of a free performance in the foyer, of which my only memory is an image of him sitting astride his harp on a hot afternoon in July 2005, wearing an unrepentant shorts, socks and sandals combo. The other time, my diary tells me, was the year earlier when he did one of his storytelling performances in the Barbican's Pit theatre.
It was the memory of the latter show that prompted this impulse buy from the merchandise stall on the way out. I've only had the chance to listen once so far. I love the idea of these folkloric tales, and enjoyed a telling of part of the Mabinogion at last year's Uncivilisation festival.
According to his biography, Robin Williamson is Honorary Chief Bard of The Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. That's a good title to have on your CV, isn't it? There's nothing wrong with his telling, but his choice of tale seems a bit too close to Dungeons and Dragons for my taste. I've never been a fan of fantasy games or fiction — in fact, I've never played Dungeons and Dragons so I'm arguing once more from a position of ignorance. This story of bedding/marrying the daughter of a giant during the time of King Arthur has those nested layers of trials that feel more like a mathematical equation or program subroutine than a narrative. A prince getting married? It hardly captures the imagination.
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