Galway Arts Festival
Back in the 60s Roy Harper began a career as (to popular perception) the ranting, raving voice of the dope-sozzled, alternative-lifestyle-adopting acoustic underground, with a good heart for the downtrodden of the world - a one-off, it seemed. And now there's Nick.
No getting away from it, Nick is Roy's heir in every way - the soaring voice, the sinuous melodies, the coruscating satires on the ills of the world and those responsible. What Nick brings to the table of his own is a more dynamic guitar style (equal parts Roy and Jimmy Page, creating a veritable orchestra from one wooden box) and a personality more effervescently applied to entertaining and carrying his audience than is the case at Roy gigs.
Increasingly, Roy's gigs are a battle between a sombre, deeply intense performance and the anarchic tomfoolery brought in by his fans (still, apparently, expecting to see Roy Of The 60s). In fostering a more welcomingly wacky but still very clearly an outsider-playing-with-society persona, Nick should be careful that he doesn't end up with a similar baggage problem - jokes becoming in-jokes, musicality becoming indulgence, a potentially wide appeal limited.
When he says, with sincerity, of the very beautiful The Verse That Time Forgot that it's the best thing he'll ever write he's right - thus far. Like his father, Nick is capable of work that channels great power and poignancy.