Natalie Merchant - Paradise is There - Royal Albert Hall, March 16, 2016

There are definitive albums (yes, let’s still call it an album) that are mark out periods of your life. One such album for me is Tiger Lily, by the American artist, Natalie Merchant. During my twenties, the plaintive tones of Ms Merchant were often found on my Walkman (for those of you who don’t know what that is – Google it) and then later, my Discman (Google) Her appeal as a singer songwriter came from her sparse song arrangements accompanied by deceptively simple lyrics which evoked complex worlds within which characters spoke of their day to day lives and served to draw me in.

Last night Natalie Merchant played her only London show as part of her worldwide 2016 tour, Paradise is There.  The tour commemorates the twenty year anniversary of Tiger Lily’s release. The tour showcases re-recordings of the original eleven songs with different arrangements, reflecting the passage of time and its impact on both songwriter and song.

I had managed to score a ticket to the show which was at the Royal Albert Hall. An email from the venue had stipulated that there would be no support act and that Natalie would arrive on stage at 7.30pm.  In my seat by 7.20pm, I watched as the half empty venue slowly filled up. The audience demographic seemed like they would appreciate an early start so they could be back home and in bed by 11.00pm.

Soon Natalie arrived on stage as promised and launched into her first song. Halfway through, she forgot the words. So she started again. And then again. Apologising for her nerves, she re-commenced the song and by its end, she could have recited the alphabet or read the dictionary. By flubbing the lyrics, she had won us over. As she started to hit her stride it became clear that her songs have not diminished with time, nor her voice. 

As she played through her first set, Ms Merchant visibly warmed up as she sang her old tunes, dancing on the stage like a flamenco whirling dervish. She was dressed in the manner of a ballet teacher in a black ballet wraparound top, black leggings and black chiffon skirt.  Her hair manifested itself differently for each song. Sometimes up. Sometimes down. Sometimes being held by her hand and sometimes being whipped along to the beat of the music. Her hair had a show in its own right.

As she danced to her own music, it seemed that she was invoking the songs through her dancing.  The more she danced, the warmer she got. The warmer she got, the more relaxed she seemed.  And the more relaxed she became, the more powerful her performance.  It was as much a visual treat as well as an aural one. By the end of the first set, the audience were all warmed up too and reluctantly let her go for the compulsory intermission as dictated by the venue so it could make more money from the audience at the bar.

Even though she said her touring act were unaccustomed to taking intermission breaks, there was no sign of mid show lethargy as Natalie and her band plunged us into the second set post intermission. Relaxed, she bantered with the audience and weaved her way through the aisles, mixing singing with improvisational dance. Remarkably she managed to create an atmosphere of intimacy whilst performing in such a cavernous venue. It was extraordinary and even though my seat was far up in the highest circle, I did not feel far at all.

In fact, it felt like I was in my twenties again. Listening to her on my Walkman while walking down the streets of my hometown.

The Buffalo Bar

So I went along last night to the Buffalo Bar on Upper Street to hear a friend’s band play. The last time I had been to a live gig, the dinosaurs still roamed the earth. The bar rated well on my personal dank factor scale which filled the night with promise. As the music and beer kicked in and the space around started filling up with punters, I had the same reaction I get every time I drag myself out to hear live music.

Why don’t I do this more often?

Actually that’s not strictly true. I went to a Get Connected charity gig for in April organised by a friend of mine. It was held at the Hoxton Underbelly and featured three up and coming bands which entertained us amply and well. I would have preferred a little more sweaty crowd moshing but that’s just me.

So it wasn’t that long ago. Only two months. Why does it feel like centuries?

Because there was a certain period of time in my life where I would go to gigs on Tues, Weds, Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun. Every Thursday the local gig guide would come out and I would plan my week accordingly.

I was a groupie. For gigs. Alas uni days ended and full-time work beckoned. Talk about responsibility being a killjoy.


Gigs are cheap, easy to come by and on all night, every night. They don’t require you to sit quietly as in a theatre or cinema. You can move around. You can talk. You can leave when you want and come late. You can dance. They’re usually at night in the dark so you can look like crap and it doesn’t matter.

I love going to gigs. Why don’t I do it more often?

The Charlotte Street Blues Bar

I woke this morning to find myself bleary-eyed and croaky voiced, all signs reflecting that I'd had a good time last night at The Charlotte Street Blues Bar.



This relatively new venue in London is fast gaining a reputation as being a sure thing for a decent night out with good music and a laid back vibe.

A few months ago I was wandering around Fitzrovia, in search of a cafe called Lantana which has excellent coffee. As I made my way down Charlotte Street, I saw a large crowd of people congregated together outside on the sidewalk. They were drinking, chatting and looking quite happy and pleased with themselves in general. It looked like a fun group party and my interest was piqued. As I approached them, a flyer was shoved in my hand and I saw that the crowd were at an opening of a new venue. The Charlotte Street Blues bar. Something about the whole atmosphere was so appealing that I wanted to go in right there and then but boring life committments called, as did the lure of good coffee.

Last night I finally made it down there with some friends to watch Ash Grunwald play. Ash is a blues and roots musician from Australia. I have had numerous opportunties to see him play in the past at venues such as the Fly By Night or Mojos in Perth but never did. I'd heard he was good but his gigs had always eluded me. Now that I was halfway across the world, it seemed like the time had come.

Ash didn't disappoint. And neither did the venue. It was such a thrill to actually go somewhere that you have high hopes for and actually have those hopes met. How rare is that. The bar was unpretentious both in style and service. The design of the place was intimate without being constrictive and the decor was just the right side of elegant, electic shoddiness. The staff were beyond attentive although I did notice that most of the men beind the bar all had beards. Is this a blues thing? Nonetheless, they actually did their jobs well which to my jaded view of customer service in London is paramount to finding a needle in a haystack.

And then of course there was Ash, interspersing larrikin warmth with frenzied virtuosity and bringing with him that touch of home which is so hard to describe but so tangible a feeling. He played till 12.30am and filled the walls of that place with the distinctive, plaintive wail of blues and roots.

At the end of the day, the venue was alive and warm because of the music that filled it. But if you have to sit anywhere and drink and be with people to listen to the blues, there are worse places you could be than the Charlotte Street Blues bar. I'd recommend you go. Soon.

Million Knives

Last night we went out in Camden to Proud, a 200-year-old Grad II Listed Horse Hospital in the Stables Market which has been redone into a live music and bar venue. We went to support our friend who was performing in his debut London gig with his band, Million Knives.

I haven't been to a gig in donkey's years. I felt my age in donkey's years when I walked into the smokey, booming venue. The too-cool-for-school brigade was out in force (after all - it was Camden) and I foresaw a long night ahead of me. I wondered how many Budweisers I would have to neck to numb the need to go home.

Fortunately I was only on my 2nd Bud (they were a fortune! £14 for a round of four) when I started to enjoy the electic range of bands onstage. The weariness of the day had fallen away and I started to appreciate the friendliness of the crowd and how easy it was to chat to strangers.

By the time Million Knives came onstage, me and my gal pals were front centre, screaming our lungs out and reviving the not-quite-dead 16 year old groupie that lives in us all.

When we stumbled out in the early hours, I'd met a bunch of great, new people and seen some great new bands. My taste for live gigs had been reborn.

Rock on!