Bright Light Bright Light @ The Lexington, London 22 Sep 2010

From the get-go, there’s an atmosphere in here that brings to mind a ‘20s speakeasy, stylish ladies and gents who know how to make their way around a beauty counter without turning into Quentin Crisp. Onstage, however, it’s a different matter.

Stage right, two girls, frowning as if their (Gladys K)night depended on such an expression, wearing dazzlingly shining outfits complete with nonsensical headwear, surely created by crazed children on a Blue Peter “dress Pan’s People using only kitchen accoutrements” mission.

Stage left, two buff-as-you-like buzz-cut boys, so doused in glitter they may as well have just been dropped into Hamleys’ patented Insta-Sparkle formula, dancing throughout proceedings as if they’ve been dosed with enough veterinary anaesthetic to fell a rhino. Their singlets read “LOVE”. A little subtlety wouldn’t go amiss, but hey, why not aim for the motherlode?

And between them, there he is: the most unlikely pop frontman since Daniel Bedingfield. On the evidence of tonight’s pretty-much-sold-out performance, Rod Thomas is a one-man Sparks, the continuation of Scissor Sisters’ introduction – but less star turn, more ringmaster.

Let’s not muck about here: make no mistake, In Rod We Trust. ‘Cry At Films’, unbelievably relegated to the B-side (if such a concept even exists anymore) of his new single, contains such simple, astute observation that we’re seriously impressed. The single itself, the devilishly irresistible ‘Love Part II’, is (perhaps faux-)nonchalantly tossed off mid-set, maybe to prove BLBL’s got plenty of tent poles to hold up his particularly colourful Cath Kidston-does-Vegas velvet, satin & silk creation.

Here is a man blissfully unashamed at owning (we’re guessing here) a comprehensive Stock Aitken & Waterman collection, and perfectly happy to out-Hurts Hurts in his plundering of overblown musical tics and signatures. But he knows that the less complicated a song is, the more it’ll burrow into your soul, so even amid the heat and the froth and the babble and the sweat, there’s some seriously gifted songwriting bubbling under.

Is Rod Thomas a pizzazz-shitting egomaniac frontman superstar? No: he’s more Gary than Robbie, truth be told, but his enthusiasm – for his material, for the audience, for the whole gosh-darned wonderful thing that is creating and delivering music to our ears – is constantly evident nevertheless, and all the more affecting for its credibility. And with songs like pre-encore finale ‘Disco Moment’ – and doesn’t everyone, everyone want one of those now and again? – he’s in no danger of fading into the background.

He’s adept at turning new phrases that’ll become as established parts of the lyrical canon as ‘Fool If You Think It’s Over’ or ‘I Got You Babe’ if there’s any justice – and there’s actually a dash of Justice in these here tunes, come to mention it. Rod seems to have been quietly building a body of work that’ll either give him an omnipresent face or (at least) a queue of pop acts snaking around the corner outside his flat, hoping for some Bright Light Bright Light magic-by-proxy. The post-gig fizz could power an oil tanker, and rightly so – it’s just one of those nights. What a big, blooming surprise.

Charlie Ivens

Originally published on thelineofbestfit.com

Foxtrot Festival @ Stanmer House, Brighton

While the UK’s lumbering major festivals seem doggedly intent on getting even bigger, the boutique end of the market is holding on to the charm engendered by havin’ it tiny. And so it is that a stone’s throw from the University of Sussex, in the garden and rooms of a fine 18th-century mansion, Brighton’s Willkommen Collective bring a day of folkish music (and tasty burgers) to 450 pairs of ears for the second year.

It’s hard not to be a little suspicious of any group of musicians calling themselves a “collective”. The term somehow implies numbers over gifts, a disregard of the too-many-cooks maxim, and perhaps an insular nature that seeks to render its members critic-proof by cushioning all concerned with clouds of affirming People Like Them. But Willkommen have had their share of break-out successes – not least, the Ivor Novello-winning charms of The Leisure Society, some of whom are here today – and we see no evidence of tall poppyism at Foxtrot.

What takes a while to sink in, however, is that Foxtrot being the Willkommen Collective’s own festival means the same faces keep popping up on stage, time and time again. There’s so much overlap throughout the day that at various points we consider ditching a traditional review in favour of a series of Venn diagrams. Indeed, playing “who’s been on with whom?” quickly becomes the day’s secondary leisure pursuit – after the music itself.

Foxtrot starts well enough with Curly Hair, who fashion cheery soft-pop portions from four-part vocals, violin, group whistling and an incongruously dreadlocked drummer whose weapon of choice is a pair of pink neon brushes. More than anyone they call to mind mid-noughties shouldabeens The Research, and that’s only to be encouraged.

And there’s plenty of encouragement throughout, even if the aforementioned cross-pollination does render a number of acts fairly indistinguishable musically (The Mariner’s Children, Laish, Shoreline – j’accuse). With 15 acts spread over three stages, it’s possible to hear eight hours of music with barely a potty-stop – and once the gents toilets (temporarily) pack up, even the latter isn’t easy.

Maybe it’s part of a Machiavellian plan to get everyone watching Rachel Dadd, one of today’s trio of visiting Bristolian acts and the only person here (or indeed anywhere) combining twee-as-a-doily acoustic ditties with recipes for Japanese food. Her voice is sweet enough but her tunes don’t stick in the mind, and it doesn’t help that she clearly wouldn’t say boo to any of the geese she sings about.

Then comes the flood. The Climbers, featuring Christian and Nick from The Leisure Society – and, yes, multiple faces we’ve already seen today – push forth a wholly different strata of multi-layered songwriting skill. Episodic, hymnal highlights like ‘Something Good (This Way Comes)’, from 2010 album The Good Ship, prick up our ears – and prepare us for further goodness to follow. François and the Atlas Mountains, from Bristol via Bordeaux, blow us comprehensively away with what can only be described as Afro-filtered ‘80s goth-folk. ‘Je suis de l’eau’ is as fine an example as you could wish for, and an (eye-catching, gatefold, clear vinyl) album is purchased the moment they finish.

And as day turns to dusk, Sons of Noel & Adrian come and go with a dense wall of bassoon, flute and tremulous vocals, but by this point we’re getting a little impatient and wondering if headliner Laura Marling is actually going to show. Even the continuing Venn diagram game isn’t enough to distract from the lack of a tangible hook; the impression that the success of Noah and the Mumfords etc is due to their relatively unusual tendency to, er, write memorable tunes is hard to shake.

Two autograph-hunting teens badgering the soundman for a pen confirm that, yes, tonight’s lead draw is indeed onsite. But first, Anna Calvi is here to stun Foxtrot into silence. Presenting a voice like Shirley Bassey’s and slashing at her guitar as if it killed her parents, Anna is the absolute antithesis of what’s preceded her today. This is filthy, operatic blues, Twin Peaks made flesh, Polly Harvey reimagined by Steve Vai with a rockabilly drummer and a squeezebox-crushing witch. Beat that, Marling.

And quietly, calmly, she does, with a diamond-clear, cleansing pool of a headline set. ‘Rambling Man’, ‘No Hope In The Air’, ‘Alpha Shallows’… it’s a well-worn observation, but Laura Marling has the air of a life veteran despite her youth, and when she sings, it’s absolutely impossible not to listen. Newly blonde hair scraped back messily like she’s here to do the washing up, Marling has the everywoman air of Peggy Lee or even Gracie Fields. “This is the most English place I’ve ever been,” she says, and then somehow makes an explanation of her guitar tuning sound funny and interesting.

Foxtrot ends on ‘The Water’, the 20-year-old lovingly covering “amazing songwriter” Johnny Flynn’s song (she provides vocals on the recorded version anyway, so admittedly it can’t be a stretch), and a finale of her own ‘I Speak Because I Can’. Marling even ends early so people can grab a last pint before the bar shuts, and do their best to catch the courtesy bus back to Brighton. Many will fail in both endeavours, and Stanmer Park is far less welcoming at night; but by parachuting in a headliner of such quality, the Willkommen Collective send everyone home happy – even if Laura Marling does throw the songwriting skill of much of today’s line-up into sharp relief.

Charlie Ivens

Originally published on thelineofbestfit.com