Review: The Gritterman at Manchester Albert Hall

The news that The Maccabees would be disbanding back in 2016 was met with upset to say the least. The group had rightly earned a loyal following, and the uncertainty of what each member would do next hung heavy over their fans.

We needn’t have worried.

Guitarist Felix White busied himself launching a cricketing radio programme with Greg James and Jimmy Anderson for Radio 5 Live, but it was lead singer Orlando Weeks who delivered the biggest curveball of them all – an illustrated Christmas book.

The Gritterman tells the tale of an unsung hero, an ageing, dignified widower who grits the streets while the rest of the world is sleeping. It was written and illustrated by Weeks himself, and was accompanied by an album of music and spoken word by actor Paul Whitehouse. The project was well-received, and labelled ‘beautiful’, ‘wistful’, and ‘extraordinary’.

Then that album spiralled into a live show, a one-off performance at London’s Union Chapel last December. And now it’s spiralled again, bringing the former Maccabees frontman to Manchester’s very own Albert Hall.

He’s a very different frontman without his big band bravado around him. He is polite, timid, humble. He slips onto the stage with no fanfare at all to introduce himself and his work, all fumbling hands and gentle voice, encouraging us all to save our applause until the end and hopefully donate some money to The Marmalade Trust (a charity dedicated to tackling loneliness) on our way out.

When he reappears minutes later with his full band – and he’s got pianists, percussion, bassist, a full choir, and actual Paul Whitehouse up there with him – and clasps his hands around his microphone stand, he seems instantly more at ease.

Orlando Weeks with Paul Whitehouse
(Image: black arts pr)

Weeks weaves together spoken word, instrumentals, and songs into one masterful piece of storytelling. He’s a composer and a conductor, guiding his large entourage through every note. Even when there is no music, he bobs and sways, like the rhythm of The Gritterman has consumed him entirely.

There’s humour here amongst the haunting sounds of the choir, and thoroughly British humour at that. Whitehouse’s easy and sincere narration punctuates the score, and is light-hearted (microwave meals and dodgy gearboxes) and incredibly moving in places (a eulogy and a poetic description of sleeping children).

Seasonal Hero is poignant and perfect – “I miss the sound of your calling, I miss your voice on the phone, miss your rat-a-tat-tapping to the songs we both know” – and as spotlit snowflakes swirl around the ceiling I find myself swallowing an unexpected lump in my throat that never really goes away.

Never has the Albert Hall been so still. The audience collectively holds its breath, terrified to move in case we break the spell that has descended on the venue like a thick blanket of snow.

I have no idea how much time passes. I’m so transfixed that I don’t even drink my glass of wine.

Although Weeks’ songwriting and distinctive vocals have always been lauded, they’ve never shone as brightly as they do tonight. The Gritterman is tangible magic.

RankTribe™ Black Business Directory News – Arts & Entertainment

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