A stormy Friday, mentally speaking. But, as ever with a storm, the calm followed, and I was lucky enough to find myself this evening, beer in hand, sighing sighs at one of the nicest gatherings I think The Local has put on for ages.
Arrived at King's Place - this bright, modern venue isn't to my usual dark and dingy taste, but tonight, I find the vast, cavernous, airy space instantly soothing. Going back to their early acoustic/folk roots, The Local has put on a trio of artists that had me overexcited and booking tickets weeks ago. Fortunately, the anticipation didn't kill me and it was well worth the wait.
Rob St John took the stage and picked his guitar beautifully. He has an unusual voice, maybe somewhere between the lovely Ginger Angel, David Thomas Broughton, with perhaps a slight hint of the Karen Daltons about him (if that doesn't seem too odd). He's joined on stage for a couple of songs by Mr Viking Moses himself on piano. Just lovely.
Plays guitar like a dream, likes cats. All good.
This was followed by the usual stunning performance by Birdengine. He has the most amazing range vocally, and a clarity and depth on high notes that I don't hear often enough. And the fella's witty. I mean really funny. The most dry, droll sense of humour. I'm not entirely sure some of the audience get him, but his oddball musings have me struggling to suppress the giggles between songs.
Am hoping the 'cutting heads off dogs' lyric isn't based on fact.
How to better that? Well, let's try a finale that I've been looking forward to for ages. Brendon Massei is Viking Moses, with melodies that tug right at your heart, a voice that melts it, and lyrics that break it. It took an emotional battering by Mr Moses, my poor, little, easy-to-bruise heart - but it was worth the bittersweet pain. Wonderful piano-playing, some charming stories and a winning smile made the most sublime end to the evening - and a truly special rendition of Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" to finish, which brought a wee lump to my throat.
Sublime.
And the audience were utterly silent during each performance. Not a fucking peep. It was a joy. Perfect.
After the gig, there's a wander down the road towards King's Cross, chatting with Mr Moses on the way (he's a real sweetheart), discussing his previous trouble getting into the country to play (Customs wouldn't let him in - the idiots - and we were gutted, particularly McG, who couldn't come tonight either - he's double gutted, my poor pal), then into some pub on York Way for a quick nightcap. Saying goodbye, I realised that Rob St. John plays with Meursault! It's a tiny music biz world, it transpires. And then Mr Moses kissed my hand as farewell - creating the swoonlike effect I seem prone to - I'm such a massive sucker for that old-fashioned gentlemanly stuff. Lovely end to a very special evening.
(Postscript: that wasn't the actual end. Oh no, there was more - a bitter end, if you will. Receiving a text from Mr Local whilst on my bus back, I veered from my safe path home to a rendezvous in a Crouch End bar, where my evening nosedived in the most hilarious way. By now, it's about half past midnight. Perched on a couple of bar stools, chinwagging and having a nice quiet beer, we watched agog as some Craig David-ish chap appeared out of nowhere (bit like Mr Benn's shopkeeper) brandishing an acoustic guitar, and then proceeded to play / murder "Wonderwall" R 'n' B stylee. And the whole bar sang along. All, that is, apart from two stunned Northerners, who nearly fell off their bar perches in astonishment. From the truly sublime to the utterly ridiculous in under two hours. Must be some sort of record.)
They agree. It's going in The Guinness Book,
followed by a quick blast of Roy Castle on his trumpet.
