The Trevor Steger Trio
The Commandary, Worcester
Saturday 27th July 2024
We are seated in the lawned garden of The Commandery, surrounded by sycamore trees, with not a Roundhead in sight. For those who don’t know, this was the control hub of Charles’s army in 1651 before he was routed and built a treehouse. Of course, in a perfect world, this gathering would have been on the anniversary, the 3rd of September. How do I know this? Because 300 years later, I was born just up the road! Anyway, it’s a fine summer’s evening, but we only have a duo tonight—Trevor’s violin-playing companion, Jo, is stranded in Greece due to high winds. A shame (though I’m jealous). So, we have string shredder Babajack and cajón-beating Jesse Benns, under a canvas canopy, seated in front of 80-plus people, relaxing on the greenery arrayed before the ancient edifice.
“Blackwater” opened the evening—a dark and menacing blues, perfectly set against the deep-cut, narrow locks of the adjacent canal. Brighter and breezier is the descriptive self-portrait of a younger Trevor as the “Rambling Man,” with Jesse’s hands busy on the face of his box. The temporary stage bounces and bucks, harmonicas hopping off the table like Mexican jumping beans in a hot pan. A gentleman from the audience has offered his Ray-Bans as the sunshine brightens and drops low in the sky, burning directly into the stage. Jesse is no fool—he had his to hand and looked suitably cool. The music spills out as frothy as a warm beer just uncapped, with the stage shaking with energy. Trevor’s hands are a blur across the face of the steel resonator as he hunches over, blowing harp and grinding out his lyrics with grit and passion.
We’re heading for a break—a perfect time for Trevor to pick up his handcrafted Weissenborn lap guitar, the iron sliding along the neck like the flow of “The River.” Fitting indeed for a man who lives afloat on a river—maybe not the big old Severn that’s rolling along just a lock gate down across the basin, but it’s a fine song for this city that formed around the crossings into Wales (historically speaking). That thick-necked lap guitar sounds just as fine and sweet as any from a luthier’s workshop.
Trevor is, of course, a fine harmonica player in his own right when he’s not building or playing guitars. “Out Walking” is as good a way as any to demonstrate his talents. “Sawdust Man” spills out like the stuffing of a rag doll—raw-edged chippings vie with dusty lyrics. The evening is drawing on, the sun has dropped low behind the old hostelry, but no one is rushing away. More have gathered despite having missed so much—the songs roll on. It’s always a pleasure catching up with Trevor. The expansion into a trio has brought new depth and contour to his music, but the core is still the raw, resonant fusion reactor that is Trevor Steger. What adds interest this evening is that it’s the first open concert held at The Commandery. Had it rained, we would have been in the great hall, with its minstrel gallery and steel breastplates. “Mary” is filling the air—a lamentful saga, perfect for this gruff boatman blues player. I’ll leave the encore to the audience—it’s a racing certainty, even as the chill of the cooling air starts to bite a little. Down the cut, the “Deep River” flows, past where the “Black Dog” barks, and it appears I’m an honorary roadie for the night!
Words and Photography by Graham Munn