(no subject)
MARTHA WAINWRIGHT (Shepherd’s Bush Empire, 17th August 2007)
Has there ever been so much musical talent concentrated in a single genepool as the Wainwright clan? Loudon the Third was once spoken of in the same breath as Bob Dylan, his ex-wife Kate McGarrigle is an Order Of Canada-winning folk singer. Their son Rufus has received the more recent plaudits with his camp Liberace stylings and a superlative taste for showmanship but at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire last Friday, it was finally big sister Martha’s turn in the spotlight. As someone who’d never heard her debut I was concerned that, despite her fine musical pedigree, she would fall into that most accursed of genres: MOR acoustic balladry. There are few things more likely to strike terror into the hearts of man than the prospect of another set full of trite sentiment and strummed melodies as original as your average Quo song, and I’ve suffered quite enough of them in my lifetime. In the event, it turned out that I had nothing to worry about because she was, quite simply, bloody marvellous.
Less extravagant than her sibling, but full of a warm, easy-going charm, Martha’s a naturally engaging character, full of a subtle energy and vivacity that enthuses all she does. In contrast, her lyrics are dark, moody and personal (she dedicates one song to a friend who’d committed suicide) and this clash between her personality and her material creates an emotional intensity that’s even more satisfying than Rufus’ pizzazz. Although her voice may not be as characterful as, say, Regina Spektor’s, what it lacks in idiosyncracity it makes up with a down-to-earth sincerity that’s strong enough to effortlessly carry the 90-minute set. Her backing band skilfully kept the groove going without trying to overshadow the main attraction (as Cat Power’s sessioners so notably failed to do), and the quality of music on offer was only matched by the calibre of the special guests: Pete Townsend and his ivory-tinkling partner Rachel Fuller. As well as backing her for the final songs, they performed a delightful cover of the poignant “It’s A Motherf****r” by Eels, Fuller joking about trying to match Martha’s penchant for profanity before the lady herself delivered a stunning low-key rendition of Bloody Motherf***ing Asshole. Finally, the band and her illustrious friends left the stage to leave her with her soon-to-be-husband Brad, who accompanied her on piano for the last song of the night, the enchanting Dis, Quand-Reviendras-tu. How fitting, I thought, that her show should end as a family affair.
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Over the last few days, I've also seen Sparta (the half of At The Drive-In without the crazy-awesome hair, but also without the 20 minute guitar solos), Spoon (American indie stalwarts who played a proficient, enjoyable if straight-laced set) and Rilo Kiley (alt-country sweethearts gone commercial indie pop led by red-headed vision of sexiness Jenny Lewis, who were absolutely brilliant- sound mix was perfect, shedloads of funky basslines, they've acquired two really hot new members, we got Ripchord on ukulele and mandolin and, of course, the wonderful Portions for Foxes). Also been applying for new jobs, but alas, blinded by my inarguable brilliance they feel too intimidated to give me an interview. Or that's what my mum tells me.
No gigs for two weeks now. WHAT AM I TO DO WITH MY LIFE?! :'(