In defense of Finley Quaye

The first song I heard by Finley Quaye was called “Dice.” It was on the soundtrack of an episode of “The OC” — remember that show? — that we watched with the kids about a decade ago. “Nothing can compare / To when you roll the dice and swear your love’s for me,” runs the chorus on this beautiful tune, which Quaye didn’t write but sang with gentle grace.

We investigated further, and found a catalogue of diverse music — blues, reggae, pop, soul — recorded by Quaye, a Scottish-born musician of African heritage who, whatever the style, managed to invest his best songs with a certain sunny optimism.

So much so that when we were making a home video to screen at the bar mitzvah of one of our sons — a mini-story of his mini-life told in pictures and clips, with some of our favorite songs as the soundtrack — we gave prominent place to another Quaye song, “Beautiful Nature” (which, incidentally, he did write).

There was no more appropriate tune; my son has the most beautiful nature. Listen to the song, play it loud, hear those horns blaring, and I defy you not to feel better. I defy you not to smile. It’s infectiously uplifting.

Five years ago, we heard Quaye was coming to Israel. We were all going to go see him, but he canceled. I don’t remember the promoters giving a reason. I assumed it was probably boycott pressure, and was disappointed.

Then, a few weeks ago, we heard again that he was coming, and playing in Jerusalem. So we bought tickets and went.

We weren’t expecting much. I’d read that Quaye, now 41, has had some personal problems in recent years. He was convicted of assault. He was bankrupt. He’d called off various shows at the last minute — so the previous Israel cancellation evidently wasn’t boycott-related — or turned up late, played badly, not seemed interested, appeared to be under the influence of who knows what. (He’s not had an easy life; he was born to unmarried parents; his mother died of a heroin overdose when he was 11; he was beaten by an uncle…)

The truth is he wasn’t great when he played here July 4. But he was pretty good.

Unusual, for sure. He set up his microphone stand waist-high, and bent himself almost double to sing into it for much of the show, though he did straighten up at times. He kept his sunglasses on throughout. He was happy for his band to choose the next song.

He played “Dice,” a less poppy version. But there were lots of his songs I’d have liked him to play that he didn’t — notably including “Beautiful Nature” and another inspiring song called “Overcome.” There was a fair amount of rather aimless bluesy noodling. (Is that a word? Wait a sec. Ah, yes, but it means fishing bare-handed for catfish. I’m going to use it anyway, because that’s what Quaye’s guitar blues sounds like: noodling.)

But he was friendly, evidently pleased to be on stage. He’d clearly rehearsed a fair bit with the Israeli drummer, bassist and guitarist who accompanied him. And his voice was quite something — pure and strong. We enjoyed the rare pleasure of hearing him in a small club in our hometown; most of the young Israelis around us were happy too, and they called him back for encores. He cheerfully obliged. Overall, we said to ourselves as we went home, that was a lovely evening. Finley Quaye in Jerusalem! How great that he came. Sorry he’s had problems. Wish him well.

And then last night, I happened upon an article online headlined, “Finley Quaye kicked offstage by music promoter for ‘polluting his venue with bull****.'” And then I saw similar headlines all over the place. Relatively minor musician, who had a few hits a long time ago, but big story apparently.

About a week after Quaye returned from Israel, it turns out, he arrived late for a gig at The Convent in Woodchester, England, missed the soundcheck and, not long into the show, was interrupted in the middle of one of those bluesy noodles and, unceremoniously, booted off stage.

Promoter Matt Roberts walked on, signaled by drawing his hand across his throat that Quaye was to stop, took the microphone, and, as Quaye left, issued an apology to the audience. “They come and f*ck my stage,” he protested, voice cracking. Turning to the rest of the band, he told them, “You guys go home.”

Roberts went on to promise refunds, to apologize to fans of live music, and to somewhat bizarrely mention, “I suffer from alcoholism and stuff and I have issues in my life but I am a professional and I’m sorry but I won’t sit here and pollute my venue with bullshi*t.”

He did acknowledge that “there is some magic there,” but evidently not enough to have allowed Quaye to play on. “Not in The Convent,” Roberts said. “This is my house, and I have acted how I feel is appropriate.”

Now obviously, I wasn’t there. And I’ve only found the five-minute noodle that prompted Roberts’s unusual interruption, so I don’t know what the previous 25 minutes already played by Quaye were like. Maybe he was abysmal. Maybe, unlike in Israel, he hadn’t rehearsed with the band. Maybe Roberts did what any sane promoter would have done in the circumstances to protect the good name of his venue and the interests of his audience.

But while most of the comments on The Convent’s Facebook page, from folks who weren’t there, praised Roberts for intervening, I was struck by the minority who defend Quaye.

“I was actually enjoying the jam,” wrote one fan who was in the audience that night.

“I was too,” echoed a second. “It had a sloppy easygoing charm — and while it was by no means great it was still preferable to a posh bloke whinging and then nothing.”

“A sloppy easygoing charm.” Yes, that’s exactly what we got in Jerusalem from Finley Quaye.

And in what must be a difficult period for him personally right now, I’d just like to thank him for that.

And reassure him, if it’s any comfort, that nobody here wanted to kick him off stage.