Geoghegan Jackson at The Kazimier, Liverpool. Photograph by Ian D. Hall.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

Bank Holidays were not meant for the appearance of a job’s list being presented into the hand of the Human Being, nor were they the opportune moment into which to get frustrated in a 17 mile tail back on Britain’s overstretched motorway system just to catch a glimpse of a wave and the slowly disappearing sensation of another summer gone in the blink of a British eye. What they were made for surely is the chance to listen to local music that might not have been taken in before and to spend time relishing a whole afternoon of it in your own city and away from the nights when the big band decide to play in the biggest venue around.

For those that made the tempting tranquillity of the Kazimier Garden for an afternoon of music hosted by Liverpool Acoustic their goal, the opening slot of the day was one that thrilled and set the tone for all that was to follow.

In Geoghegan Jackson, the gravitas of the vocals and the rather splendid acoustic guitar made for such an enjoyable start to the Bank Holiday Monday that even if the frustrations and rancour of the coming autumn were heavily twisted into the thoughts of the attendees, by the time Helen Jackson and Susie Geoghegan finished, such miseries of darkening nights, heating costs and more leaves covering the slowly hibernating grass, were burned and the ashes tossed far and wide.

It can be easy to find yourself slowly being placed under a kind of spell when listening to these two women perform, even more so in the natural acoustic affinity afforded by the Kazimier and as the crowd drew in to take full advantage of the good music on offer, that feeling of being mesmerized was heightened and fulfilled in a very special way.

In songs such as Catch a Train, Flesh, Praying Palms, Threads, Secret Shop and the entrancing Flatlands Rising, the vocal brought an inner peace to the soul and the guitar took it a long and dramatic ride that was bountiful and full of resounding imagery.

To hear such music is to understand that Bank Holidays are not meant to be driven mad by the sound of a drill and someone telling you that the angles are wrong, nor are they for sound of traffic getting uptight and Satnav’s banging their electronic heads in mock shame at the latest wrong turn; they are solely the preserve of listening to something that makes you happy and to dismiss the fluff that life offers. In Geoghegan Jackson, the music is all.

Ian D. Hall