Hothouse Flowers – James Hay Theatre, Christchurch – 24 February 2024
- Blair Morgan
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
I went along to see Hothouse Flowers at the James Hay Theatre with a strange sense of déjà vu and anticipation. The last time I’d seen them in Ōtautahi was across the foyer in the main auditorium at the Christchurch Town Hall in early 1991. More than three decades on, beards were in place, the hair a little wilder, and four of the five musicians looked like they’d stepped straight out of the set of The Hobbit all scraggly, road-worn, gloriously unconcerned with fashion. They looked older. Mind you don't we all?
As ever, everything revolved around the mercurial Liam Ó Maonlaí and this time he at least appeared to be wearing shoes (!). Vocalist, pianist, occasional guitar, bodhran thumper, storyteller, and spiritual guide, Liam appeared in a spectacularly ridiculous hat - something that might have worked in a Southeast Asian rice field but looked wildly out of place on a sixty something Irishman. He played a long, meditative keyboard piece sung in Gaelic before the band eventually joined and morphed into their famous cover of "I Can See Clearly Now" by Johnny Nash. I’ve never loved that song, so it was fine by me to get it out of the way early, though the crowd sang every word. Liam's voice was in great shape (equal parts Van Morrison meets Joe Cocker) and he drove a generous two and a quarter hour show that leaned heavily on their second and breakthrough album Home.
There were lovely touches for Christchurch, including “Christchurch Bells,” though I wished Liam had lingered a little longer on what it meant to play here rather than the quick “Great to be back in this land.” Still, the music spoke for itself.
Musically, the biggest surprise was a jaw-dropping cover of "Purple Rain" by Prince. Guitarist Fiachna Ó Braonáin somehow pulled off that iconic solo, no easy feat, and proof that any doubts I’d ever had about his playing were misplaced.
Despite Liam’s charisma and the fine guitar work of Ó Braonáin alongside original member Peter O'Toole, switching between guitar, bouzouki and electric bass , my MVP of the night was drummer Dave Clarke. Steady, tasteful, always in the groove, he reminded me at times of Charlie Watts. During an Irish meets Africa instrumental (yes believe me that is what it sounded like) that nodded toward Ali Farka Touré, Clarke kept everything grounded with delicate brushes on the snare while the band drifted into hypnotic improvisation. And on a frantic “Give It Up,” he set such a pace Liam could barely keep up vocally.
Elsewhere we got “Movies,” “Sweet Marie,” “Three Sisters,” “Don’t Go,” “Hallelujah Jordan,” and a gentle “Be Good,” the sole representative from my favourite album Songs From The Rain. I’d have loved more from that record, but the set still felt generous, exploratory, and full of heart. About an hour in, Liam admitted he was “f—ing tired,” and honestly, fair enough, they were working hard.
One of the most moving moments came when Liam asked for silence at the end of "If I Go", from People. He had done the same when I saw them in 1991, then dedicating it to the Gulf War. This time it was for Planet Earth. Same song, different worries, same fragile hope.
What struck me most was that this was not a nostalgia show. They weren’t dusting off old songs like museum pieces. They stretched them, bent them, jammed them into new shapes. Not least, perhaps, because original member Leo Barnes left the group in the late ’90s. His saxophone and Hammond organ flourishes were once central to the band’s sound, and without them there are musical spaces to be filled - spaces the current line-up seem to relish exploring. It was clear the musicality that made Hothouse Flowers special in the late ’80s is still there: restless, searching, unafraid to stretch.
Walking out into the Christchurch night, I couldn’t help thinking about the strange poignancy of seeing a band 35 years after first seeing them. It’s a bit like looking in a mirror you didn’t know was there. You’re not just watching a band from your youth, you’re watching fellow travellers who kept going. Especially when you attend the show with an old school mate, and spot another you haven’t seen in 40 years. Suddenly the years don’t feel theoretical. They’re standing right beside you.
If it’s another 35 years, I suspect I won’t be the only one unable to make the gig. Let’s hope this special band finds its way back to Christchurch a lot sooner.
Photos & videos- thanks Peter Langlands
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