Different people face mortality in different ways, and there is no knowing how any one person will react to the knowledge that their fate is sealed, but perhaps the most inspirational story of a man faced with a terminal illness is that of Wilko Johnson, the eccentric, wholly untameable guitarist for Dr Feelgood. Diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, rather than face the debilitating misery of chemotherapy, Wilko went out on tour and, as if tearing audiences apart with a vigour more commonly associated with the young was not enough, he also found the time to record ‘Going back home’ with Who singer Roger Daltry. That Wilko might, in fact, be saved (in the wake of pioneering surgery conducted mere days ago following the discovery that WIlko’s cancer was not as aggressive as first thought), makes this a story worhty of the most sentimental of Hollywood script writers, and we can only hope that the errant musician recovers for the world is surely a brighter place with him in it.
For the time being, however, (and the road to recovery will be a lengthy one) we have ‘Going back home’, record that is vibrant, exciting, full of life and energy and a remarkable testament to the sheer strength of will that Wilko possesses. Opening with the title track, the energy that floods from the speakers is unmistakable, and there is no question of Wilko’s mindset when Roger introduces himself with the snarled line “I wanna live, the way I like” over layers of gloriously gutsy guitar, energetic piano and harmonica work that zips through the mix like liquid gold. It’s a song that shakes off ennui and has you up and dancing before you have any realisation of what’s happening and it is simply impossible to relate such life-affirming music to Wilko’s parlous medical state at the time of recording. The highlight of the album appears next in the form of ‘Ice on the motorway’, a funky, groovy blast with a driving beat (courtesy of Dylan Howe), slinky Hammond organ (Mick Talbot) and, at the heart of it all, Roger Daltry who sings with a power, passion and authority which threatens to eclipse his younger self in a blaze of pure rock ‘n’ roll splendour. The man growls, roars and inhabits every nuance of every lyric with a fire that is impossible to fake and, set against Wilko’s gnarled guitar playing, the result verges on the ecstatic. ‘I keep it to myself’, complete with Steve Weston’s wild Harmonica, is a lascivious trawl through the mind of a libidinous rock star surrounded by wide-eyed groupies, a subject matter which Roger imbues with authority whilst the insistent beat keeps you tapping your feet regardless of the disapproving stares you may get from people around you.
The only composition not written by WIlko appears next in the form of a Bob Dylan cover – ‘can you please crawl out your window’ from the lauded ‘Highway 61 revisited album – and, in the well-established tradition of Bob Dylan covers (‘knockin’ on heaven’s door’ excepted) it sees the song given a rocket-powered make over that leaves the original gasping for air. Taking a brief pause from the nitrous-powered material found elsewhere, ‘turned 21’ is a ballad worthy of Tom Waits, sung with heart-breaking simplicity by Roger, whose performance here, as elsewhere, is entirely faultless. You can’t keep a good guitarist down, however, and ‘Keep on loving you’ has a funky strut and plenty of opportunity for Wilko to indulge in gritty blues workouts across the fretboard that cheerfully eschew accuracy for heart and sound all the better for it. The sumptuous rock ‘n’ roll of ‘some kind of hero’ shimmers with good-time vibes and scratchy guitars whilst ‘sneakin’ suspicion’ form the 1977 Dr Feelgood album of the same name rivals ‘ice on the motorway’ the album’s funkiest track. With rich Hammond work and a breezy feel, ‘keep it out of sight’ is as horny as a teenager on the prowl and Roger’s performance captures the very essence of desire as Wilko and his crack band play for their lives behind him. ‘Everybody’s carrying a gun’ is pure vintage rock with a smooth, blues feel, and then, all too quickly, the final song appears in the form of ‘all through the city’, a tough, warts ‘n’ all prowl through the underbelly of life one last time, Wilko’s guitar playing sounding particularly focused as the album spins to its conclusion.
‘Going back home’ is an album to treasure, a last hurrah of a musician steadfastly opposed to the notion of self-pity and a blazing ride through the world of blues, funk and rock ‘n’ roll that offers more fire and fury than you’re likely to hear from almost any other act this year. Faced with a dire prognosis it is only possible to guess at what horrifically haunting effort some bands might have produced, but whatever lies ahead in Wilko’s future (and we can only hope for the best), ‘Going back home’ is the sort of album that anyone would be proud to be remembered for. Buy it, and buy it now, and if you’re not dancing by the time the second track has rolled out of the speakers there’s a chance that your soul has already departed your body for this is an easy candidate for album of the year lists the world over. Quite simply, Wilko Johnson has produced triumph from tragedy and ‘going back home’ is a blistering treasure of an album that should be compulsory listening for music lovers everywhere.
