Somebody recently told me that it is much easier to write a review about something that you don’t like than something you do. This is why I am hugely pleased that this was the first gig assigned to me. Oh dear, I think I just gave the game away.
We finally found the Queen of Hoxton pub, slightly flustered and three Happy Hour mojitos down, just in time to catch the support act, Kelli Ali. I had fully intended to do some preliminary research into this evening’s bands, but somehow time had gotten away from me. Therefore, I was slightly disconcerted to see the (fairly small) audience had eschewed the comfy seats round the side to plonk themselves cross legged on the floor in front of the stage and what this meant for the evening ahead. Fairly soon, long haired and wearing a smock and cowboy boots, Kelli Ali wandered on stage to start her set promoting her new album Rocking Horse.
I have generally been fairly sceptical about the merits of folk music and always assumed that it must have had some kind of “time and a place” style relevance, plus needed copious quantities of LSD to enjoy it. I therefore found it decidedly difficult to draw up comparisons for this artist. At a push I would say she is a bit like Fairport Convention crossed with Nico and a bit of Donovan thrown in. However, they are the only folk singers I know. Overall, I found it difficult to gather any enthusiasm towards this artist.
It’s safe to say that she has a very appealing voice, all breathy and high sung over a gently strumming acoustic guitar, but new single Butterfly was almost impossible to distinguish from the rest of her songs. It is apparent that trying hard to completely recapture a particular ghostly hippy sound of the past was far more important to her than actually making an interesting tune. Her sound is less reminiscent of and more exactly stolen from the soundtrack to a 1960’s hippy film. This statement was cemented by Kelli Ali closing her set with Willow’s Song, Britt Ekland’s nude siren call to Edward Woodward in the film The Wicker Man. For me this was the high point of the whole evening. It was at this point that I noticed the admiring looks she was drawing from grave young men with glasses and hessian bags and realised that clearly, I am not her target audience.
Next up and, preceding her set with approximately eight minutes of guitar tuning, was Gregory and the Hawk. This was the final stop of a UK tour for this New York based act who is a misleadingly named solo singer /songwriter (real name Meredith Godreau). Wedge haircutted Meredith is supported by two equally trendy types including a tattooed flautist and a man in jeans so tight I could see the outline of his dangle.
The music is comprised of experimental instrumentals interspersed with very beautiful and melodic vocals from Godreau. However, it is fair to say that they set a pace with their slow and gentle opening number and failed to escalate the excitement from then onwards. I realise that this is melancholic pop at its most arty and serious but I was fairly gagging for an up-tempo number by mid way through the set.
A less interesting Sigur Ros, it’s easy to imagine any one of these songs as perfect background fodder in a Sophia Coppola film, though the similarities between one song and the next would make it difficult to choose which. Other obvious comparisons come in the form of the Regina Spektor or Jenna Newsom types (though disturbingly I seem to have written Six Pence None the Richer in my notes). Clearly for Gregory and the Hawk it is harder to escape the singer/songwriter grouping just by using a confusing name.
Overall, the best word I could use to describe them would be inoffensive. The music is pleasant enough but quite clearly they couldn’t even motivate an audience of paying fans to stand on their own two feet.
