While the comparisons come from a narrow and predictable field of acoustic troubadours, that should not suggest Rob St John is anything other than fantastic. If his bushy ‘`do and drainpipe breeks didn’t do it, the soft husky voice and pastoral tunes clinched the Nick Drake mention. In fact, I’ve never come across such a comprehensive Nick Drake look-and-sound-a-like, and I hope social services get onto this one before he too tops himself, because despite the current ubiquity of that particular source of inspiration, St John’s set was as effective, moving and endearing as his ambulance service.
The first act’s flair for wallowing in electric silence was to be a theme for the night. However, Doogie Paul’s physically impaired (broken shoulder) performance began to grate after the first song. A faintly played banjo and slightly harsh Scottish accent made uncomfortable listening, and when the formula was repeated for each piece, the cold of the auditorium became the least of our problems. However, a broken shoulder and be-codined mind are two of the best excuses ever delivered from a stage.
What was for Rob St. John a skill with the quiet round a song is a mastery for Adrian Crowley, the effect only added to by frequent stops battling cold induced ‘`fruity’` mal-tuning. When he gets going his succulent electric guitar lays a rich balm on the chilly audience, like Sigur Ros battling Mogwai for the most unlikely folk performance of the year. The sea and those who sail upon it are a prominent recurring theme, and Crowley was joined at points by fellow ship lover James Yorkston on acoustic guitar. The encore saw him return alone with ‘`Electric Eels’` which recalls the end of ill fated movie ‘`A.I.’`, and ‘`Leaving the Party’`. The audience left that party with cold feet and warm heart-cockles.
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