29 f Leaving The Light On

Chris Smither is celebrating fifty years on the road as a peerless songwriter and inspirational guitarist. A bedraggled Colin Irwin gets his diary in a twist. Judith Burrows takes the photos.

A

tall distinguished figure dressed in black, Chris Smither stands blinking in the early morning sunlight outside his London hotel. He smiles warmly,

if somewhat curiously, and vigorously shakes the hand of the rather bedraggled figure who addresses him. Names are exchanged. Purpose of visit established. And Chris looks suddenly quizzical. “The interview…” says the bedraggled one, still trying to shake off the effects of last night’s pub quiz. “For fRoots? You know, the magazine? We have an interview arranged. It’s for the cover…”

“Ah…” says Chris Smither, pondering how to break the bad news. “I think you’ll find the interview is scheduled for 9am tomorrow morning… I’m so sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. I feel terrible, but I have to be at a picture session this morn- ing… it’s for… fRoots magazine… a cover.”

Mr Bedraggled checks his own diary, laughs hysterically and crawls away to spend the rest of the day in isolated humiliation…

Twenty four hours later, it’s Groundhog

Day. Same time. Same place. Same weather. Same beaming smile. Same enthusiastic handshake.

Between the two meetings, though, Chris Smither has been busy. There was the picture session, of course. A cover shoot actually, for fRoots magazine. And last night he played a blinding solo show in front of a devoted sell-out crowd at the splendid King’s Place in King’s Cross.

It’s the sort of show you don’t often see any more. One man and his guitar. Seated. A huge sound. A real racket, in fact, that fills the hall with such velocity, innocent passers-by might imagine a stonking band is going for it full tilt. His foot taps incessantly with robust force. His voice displays the furi- ous, cracked emotion of a man who sings not because he wants to, but he has to – full of dishevelled desperation and bruising barbs. It’s the lived-in voice of human expe- rience, exuding a worn fascination that instantly fascinates and hooks you into whatever story it is pumping out at you.

There’s fraught blues. Delicate love

songs. Vibrant narratives. Thoughtful reflec- tions. Comedic lyrics. Anecdotes at every turn. Stories to burn. And couplets to kill for. Oh, and anthems. He writes great anthems. He ends the show with one of them, Leave

The Light On, a defying rallying call for those losing a battle with time. “If I were young again I’d pay attention to the little-known dimension/The taste of endless time…”

He’s been doing this stuff for 50 years. And he’s brilliant.

“It’s amazing what happens if you keep getting up in the morning,” he laughs over foaming cappuccino the next morning, applause still ringing in both our ears. “It’s good. It’s really good. For so many years I’ve been waiting for it to end… and now it’s got to the point where it can’t stop. I’ve made it through.”

He almost didn’t make it through. For there were times during those 50 years when he barely did manage to get up in the morning.

And if there’s an elephant in the room, Chris immediately invites it to come charg- ing out of the corner almost before the first sip of coffee passes your lips.

“In the beginning I had visions of becoming a big star and then… then I got tied up in alcohol for a dozen years. That was the low point. A lot of people thought I’d died. All grist to the mill and they weren’t totally lost years, but if there was any hope of me becoming a James Taylor that didn’t help. And once I got healthy again and started looking at what I could do, I realised that all I really wanted to do was play. To write my songs, play my songs and make a living at it, so I’ve been very lucky.”

And at least he got some good material out of it. “I get material out of life. Almost the definition of a songwriter is someone who can translate their experiences into music, although spending twelve years as a pathetic alcoholic is a very dull business. That’s essentially what it is.”

How did you escape alcoholism?

“The easy answer is I don’t know. I think I just got really tired. Some people get out and some don’t – I don’t know why. You get to the point where you are losing more than you are gaining. Addiction is a losing game. Alcohol, drugs… you name it. For some enough’s enough and for others their life is their last negotiable asset. For me I just couldn’t go on and I didn’t want to die. So then you start looking for some- one to help you and you find there are lit- erally hundreds of people and organisa- tions that will help.”