Warning: the first part of this post may be serious and slightly over-sentimental. And I have no idea what I'm going to write in the second part yet, so don't hold your breath for hilarity.
Last night, Mum and I went to see A Not-So Silent Night, the Wainwright family festive specatcular at the Royal Albert Hall. Rufus and Martha sang, as did their mother and aunt (Kate and Anna McGarrigle), Guy Garvey from Elbow, Ed Harcourt, Boy George and several others. And several moments stood out for me. Firstly, Rufus' voice. I love Guy Garvey, I really do - his version of a Joni Mitchell song last night was outstanding, and I'd still marry him now if he asked me, but Rufus... his control... it's truly something else. Just like last time, he did his 'singing without mikes' trick, which is no mean feat in the RAH, and it blew us away. O Holy Night will never be the same again. Secondly, Martha wasn't pregnant any more. After a few songs, she told us that while she usually leaves the talking up to her big brother, she wanted to say that she had been expecting to perform this concert eight and a half months pregnant, and how grateful she was to the doctors and nurses at UCL hospital who, three weeks ago, helped deliver her son. She thanked the NHS, and in a profoundly-unBritish moment, we all spontaneously cheered. It's one of those rare topics where we know full well how lucky we are.
But what was even lovelier than happy Martha and gorgeous Rufus was the slightly wonky singing of their elderly mother, and Boy George, who simply isn't as good as he was, and Rufus' German boyfriend who was nervous as hell during Stille Nacht. But that's what life is all about, isn't it, loving and respecting those who have been important to us. So what if Boy George doesn't sound like he used to? His transvesticism (word?) broke international barriers in the eighties and Karma Chameleon was number one in sixteen countries. I watched all these hugely talented musicians last night, and what seemed most important was not their voices, but what they were doing with them, and I railed at The X Factor for pouring yet more superb singers with nothing to say onto our iPods. I want people to have a message first, and then a voice, not the other way round. Still, if I'd applied that rule to myself, you'd have been reading someone else's blog for the past four years. And I do flipping love The X Factor.
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