Flint has the audience well prepared for her by support act Paul Guilbody, whose set is best described as ‘friendly’. Opener ‘Tunnet Man’ nicely sets the tone – haunting, low-key and yet, naggingly addictive. Guilbody’s backing band has a somewhat hippy-esque set up. No-one seems fixed to one instrument. A joyously ramshackle sound tumbles out from them, topped off with lots of lovely violin work. It sits welcomely at odds with the rest of the sound; very brassy and European in nature. Add to this Guilbody’s fine, keening voice and you have a winning combination.
There’s an endearingly nervy air to Kat Flint. She seems almost embarrassed to think that anyone’s turned up to watch her. This soon gives way to a core of steel confidence. With her general vibe of friendliness and naivety, Flint soon has the audience on her side. Her songs seem to stem from personal experience. It feels as though she is taking us on a journey through her emotional past. Looking around, one is hard-pressed not to notice either the tapping of toes or a wry smile of appreciation on an observer. These are songs about things we’ve all been through at one time or another, but it’s nice to know someone else has been there too. With endearing bravado, Flint sings us a few little lessons about life. An uplifting and satisfactory evening.