Has Kilburn's Luminaire becomes the venue of choice for quality Americana in the UK capital? This now esteemed venue has a hardcore following and despite its slightly awkward location, gathers together an impressive roster of performers month after month.
It has to be said, each time I come here it feels like I'm home. For added value, downstairs boozer The King's Head (the Luminaire's 'slutty' sister, as a friend describes it) plays a quality selection of Hank Williams, Jonny Cash and Whiskytown pre-gig; a playlist entirely in tune with the evening's entertainment - although it leaves me wondering what they put on down here when Natalie Imbruglia played a few months back!
So as a prelude to the evening's headliners, we get two girls with a cello and a bassoon. Wonderful instruments - how often do you see a basson onstage? The Moulettes hail from Brighton and play a rousing, folksy and slightly apocalyptic (their words) brand of barnyard anglo-americana. It's dark, troubled and original. They're a touch giggly at times, with a stage identity still in development but there's oodles of promise in the sweeping deep cello rushes and sustained harmonies. They hold their own too against a a predominantly male crowd with an average age, one supposes, of their fathers.
Anticipation is quick to follow for the main act. Remember when you went the cinema as a kid and everyone clapped when the black screen certification card appeared? There's a similar moment when a Luminaire employee (a Luminette?) pushes her way through the throngs to place polite notices on the backs of the the monitors explaining that the venue is full to capacity and asking politely that we don't sit on the floor and kill the buzz.
Moments later, there are further looks of bemusement as an elaborate percussion rig is constructed before our very eyes - two bass drums take pride of place while a variety of military helmets occupy the space usually reserved for cymbals.
By now, we're all packed in like sardines waiting for the Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir (hereafter referred to as the AMGC) to grace us with their presence. A handful of serious looking fans has laid claim to the first few rows and they're looking kinda angry..until three grizzly chaps in flannel and one slightly suaver charmer in a pairs of brown slack and a waistcoat take the stage.
The AMGC are nothing if not visually arresting. Judd Miller, sporting a leather cap and a beard worthy of Castro is the central figure, flanked by wingman Bob Keelaghan, stocky bassist Vladimir Sobolewski and, somewhere behind the elaborate percussion rig, Peter Balkwill.
|
Playing a ninety minute set, they squeeze in an epic number of songs. Standout tracks 'Go Back Home' and 'Saint Hubert' - with a magnificant draggy guitar line carried along by Miller's priceless growl - go down a storm with everyone, not least one silver-haired hipster who whoops like a teenage girl and punches the sky every five minutes in delight. He's the hardcore AMGC fan who is enjoying every single second of tonight and reminds those nearby just how wonderful it is when your favourite band visits town.
From time to time Kellaghan tells a story or two in a lilting, whistley Canuck twang while his counterpart Miller delivers a line here or there. Imposing double bassist Sobolewski doffs his cap after every other song and, rather charmingly, thanks the audience. They share an interesting dynamic and one that carries through into their songs - played with a high level of musicianship and somehow sounding like the whole thing was made up on the spot.
Palmer is the central focus though - a truly intriguing persona who doubles as the founder of a Calgary Puppet Collective and writes books for children (wonderful, huh?). Throughout the set, he switches ably from a mean slide guitar to a rickety old banjo and plays the harp pretty darn well too.
What sets the AMGC apart from a host of similar acts is a confidence, originality and delivery totally unlike the bands they've probably shared stages with at any number of folk and americana festivals. Their influences seem to extend way beyond the boundries of standard bluegrass, country and folk. I get hints of Tom Waits in the original percussion arrangements, a little Hasil Adkins in the guitars and even a Hank Williams darkness in the lyrics. The net result is inventive, fresh and brilliant.
|
