“Most of the show is going to be me tying my shoelaces” Jason Webley says as he does, indeed, tie his shoelaces. In fact, if the measure of a good gig is how much punishment the performer inflicts on his own clothing during the performance Webley is up there with the best of them. Shoelaces come undone, the little flat hat falls off numerous times, so many, in fact, that you wonder why he bothers putting it back on again and his red shirt is sweat-dyed not even halfway through the gig. Luckily though, it doesn’t all begin and end with the clothes.
He’s been at this for thirteen years and has really become a master of gently manipulating the audience, playing snatches of his most popular songs to elicit a gasp then segueing into anecdotes about something vaguely connected. The audience are encouraged to sing along to each song – even if they don’t know the words – until they are filled with so much confidence that they invent their own rhythms and harmonies, shouting out jokes and suggestions that are at least responded to by Jason, even if they are rejected. The small size of the room and the fact that he often goes off-mic to address the audience also adds to the intimacy of the performance.
Webley recognises the importance of what he calls “stupid stuff”, taking half an hour or so to be the most entertaining busker ever, taking 80s song requests from the audience and playing them on accordion. Most of the material is, of course, designed to make the audience laugh like when he explains the alternate universe in which ‘Hockey Star’ is a smash hit and plays the most terrifyingly impassioned cover version of ‘Freebird’. The whole thing has an informal feel as he covers ‘Billie Jean’ but we’re aware a change is going to come as he keeps warning us that the “serious stuff” is not too far away.
The serious stuff, when it arrives, is breathtaking. His songs have an Eastern European vibe and he himself seems to embody all the wild energy of Gogol Bordello in one man, kicking and shouting like a demonic puppet. His voice is world-weary and expressive but versatile, able to suit the light calypso rhythms of ‘Eleven Saints’ and the tear-jerking poignancy of ‘Last Song’ at which everyone joins the fading refrain at the end, turning it into an almost ‘Hey Jude’ moment with a chorus that seems like it could go on forever. It’s a sober occasion as most of the audience know this is a farewell tour of sorts for him and there’s sadness as Webley talks of his sabbatical and possible retirement from gigging, but also hope when he speaks of his motivation to perform, and reluctance to ever completely stop; a reluctance that the audience vocally share.
As the lights come up and the audience filter out it isn’t the usual post-gig high. Quietly contemplative, they go up to Webley and speak to him of their desire for him to continue playing. Perhaps he will.