Sinéad O'Connor Live at St George's in Kemp Town, Brighton

Ever since I was a surly teenager in Doc Martens, I have loved Sinéad O'Connor. Unlike many other, image conscious, pop stars, the striking singer has never been afraid to speak her mind, stick two fingers up to the world, or wear her heart on her sleeve - and has always been a great inspiration to me. Her first album, The Lion and the Cobra, came out in 1987, when I was 13. Back then her songs of angst and heartache spoke to my hormonal psyche, and I was drawn to her rebellious, free-spirited persona. I have bought every album since, and each has resonated with me at different stages of my life.

I went to see Sinéad live about 10 years ago, at the Apollo in Hammersmith. It was a memorable, if not very intimate show. Since then she has rarely been on the touring circuit, and her musical output has been sporadic. So when I saw on Melting Vinyl's listings that they had bagged her for a gig at St George's in Kemp Town, I was giddy with excitement. I've seen many gigs at St George's, mostly folky/acoustic acts that suited the serene surroundings. But this was the first time I'd seen a full on rock gig there, and it turned out to be a truly sensational experience.

After a mellow support act, Sinéad stepped onto the stage, rocking a leather corset that showed off her many tattoos. Still completely shorn, a sprinkling of grey was visible in the skinhead stubble that poked out from under her headscarf. As soon as she let loose that dazzling smile of hers, the room lit up with the promise of a special night. Her voice was on fine form as she sang a string of classics from the back catalogue, including No Man's Woman, The Emperor's New Clothes, This is the Last Day of Our Acquaintance, Jackie, and of course, her most famous hit, Nothing Compares 2 U. These were interspersed with songs from the new album, How About I Be Me (and You Be You), which came out earlier this month - her first release in five years. I particularly enjoyed 4th and Vine - a song about getting married that was introduced with a cheeky anecdote about altering the colour of the eyes in the song to match her changing boyfriends - and her fervent cover of John Grant's Queen of Denmark (which is on the new album).  

The audience was rapt when Sinéad despatched the band and sang I Am Stretched on Your Grave unaccompanied, revealing the true soul drenching power of her voice. At once fierce and fragile, she sings with eyes shut tight, entirely consumed by the words she is delivering. From this intense state, she relaxed easily into the inter-song banter, chatting and making jokes - keeping the audience engaged throughout. Usually I begrudge going through the motions of an obligatory encore, but in this case the riotous demand was justified. Having given a standing ovation to the final song of the set, the whole crowd remained upright for a bonus four songs - and loving every moment.  

Practically the whole audience (including me and Ant) piled into the Barley Mow afterwards, collectively raving about the gig as they knocked back celebratory nightcaps. Especially touching were the overheard words of those who had gone along with fairly low expectations and been happily blown away. It was one of those nights where everyone felt united by a shared happening of something rare and momentous. For me personally, it re-affirmed 25 years of admiration and, most importantly of all, put me back in touch with that boot-wearing adolescent who has been sadly dormant of late. Thank you, Sinéad, for reminding me who I am again.  

A Drunk in a Midnight Choir

“Like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free” Leonard Cohen

As a devout young choir girl (head chorister no less), I used to take umbrage at the hoards of ‘Christmas Brigade’ punters who would rock up at midnight mass having not seen the inside a church all year except possibly for weddings, Christenings and funerals. It seemed unfair that I should be there every Sunday doing my bit while they just got to saunter in for the fun part once a year. Little did I imagine that one day it would be me rolling drunkenly into the back pew for a sing-song on Christmas Eve.

But why would a confirmed agnostic/pantheist indulge in such institutional religious rites? A sentimental attachment to old times is partly to blame - my spiritual life may no longer be tied to the church, but I still find immense comfort in the traditions and surroundings that were such a big part of my childhood and early adulthood.

The other main attraction is the music. Having been trained and immersed in it for so many years, my singing voice comes alive to sacred music, particularly the good old Christmas carol. My heart does not belong to Christmas until I have belted out the soaring descant to Oh Come all Ye Faithful by candlelight. The past few years I have been exercising my lungs on Christmas Eve at our local church, St George’s in Kemp Town, where I get an extra thrill from knowing that some of my favourite performers have also sung there. But it’s not just about sentiment and singing.

Christianity may have appropriated many of its festive traditions from the Pagans and Romans, but Christmas is Christmas now (not Yuletide or Saturnalia) and there’s no getting away from it. So whether you believe in Jesus or not, it only seems fitting to pay one's respects to the tradition that gives us that precious time off work to argue with family, max out our credit cards and over-indulge on rich food and booze.

Joking aside, I may not be religious but I am a sucker for tradition and ritual and there’s nothing like candlelit mass for conjuring ceremonial magic and summoning the festive spirit (figuratively speaking of course). So call me a hypocrite, but come Christmas Eve I’ll be there giving it all I’ve got in my once a year pseudo-spiritual seasonal devotional. And pious choir girls, please don’t hate me for it.

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Nothing to do with midnight mass but suitably festive, the above video is from this year's Wainwright/McGarrigle family Christmas show, 'A Not So Silent Christmas' at the Royal Albert Hall. I recommend the CD or DVD of the occasion as excellent festive listening and have also picked out a few other favourite alternative Christmas albums for fellow music lovers. Enjoy...

Emiliana Torrini Live at St George's Church, Kemp Town

"I always shit myself at hometown gigs" confessed a cheeky Emiliana Torrini to a packed out audience at last night's Kemp Town live show - part of an epic worldwide tour to promote the new album, Me and Armini. The Icelandic singer-songwriter has lived in Brighton for the last five years and judging by the reaction of the crowd, has endeared herself greatly to the locals in that time. It seemed half of those present were either her personal friends or (as in my case) friends of friends - making for an affectionately generous atmosphere to which she rose with equal warmth and gratitude.

I first discovered Emiliana from reading a review of her 2005 album, Fisherman's Woman, which became one of my most listened to of that year. Since then I've delved eagerly back into her career to Love in the Time of Science, Crouçie d'Où La and Merman, as well as other rarities from her early days in Iceland, but this was the first time I'd seen her play live. It was a treat to do so in the familiar surrounds of my favourite Brighton venue, St George's, inside whose walls I have seen such luminaries as Low, Iron and Wine and Lambchop perform, as well as belting my own lungs out there at Midnight Mass for the past few Christmases. It was the perfect choice for Torrini's raw-silk vocals and poetically intimate lyrics to shine, and shine she most certainly did.

Despite fighting a nasty chest infection, which could occasionally be detected in her speaking voice, Emiliana's hauntingly honeyed vocals remained on top form. A tight backing band propelled her through a compelling hour or so of mostly more recent material from the last two albums, moving easily between an eclectic mix of influences and styles. From the ska-inspired title track of the new album to the more trademark folky ballads like Sunny Road - each song was delivered with polish and conviction. The sweetly bashful between-songs banter revealed an approachable, refreshingly un-starry personality, which was further observed during an uproarious karaoke session at the after show party later that night.

Having been gently unravelled throughout the evening's offerings, I was eventually reduced to sobs by the parting number, Beggar's Prayer - a melancholy ballad which ends: "Mamma said, lift your head from the sieve of your hands. Mamma said eventually this hurting will end." I can distinctly recall my own mother offering such comforting words in times of heartache, and from the number of sleeves being used as tissues on the way out of the venue, it seems I wasn't the only one with whom the song struck a chord.

The next leg of Emiliana Torrini's tour takes her to North America then Scandinavia, but she'll be back in the UK for the summer festival season and a few more dates around the country later in the year.

Alternative Evensong

Lambchop, St George's Church, Kemp Town, 29th October 2008

Around this time last year I wrote about an Iron & Wine gig at which the polite heckle "that was brilliant, thanks!" amusingly summed up the typical contingent at Brighton's loveliest music venue, St George's Church in Kemp Town. Last night we were back at our local house of worship to venerate before Nashville legends Lambchop, at a buzzy but surprisingly not sold out show. Eccentric crooner Kurt Wagner and his mightily accomplished band took a bold risk by reeling off their latest album in its entirety - a rite (as they themselves admitted) usually reserved for classic works by iconic rockers. But it was the perfect setting in which to pull off such a move - the courteous middle class crowd sitting in quite reverence, gracefully accepting the new material, then exploding into appreciative applause on cue. Wagner seemed genuinely touched and surprised at how well it went down, and rewarded us with an extended encore of old favourites plus an unexpected and utterly genius cover of Talking Heads' 'Once in a Lifetime'.

Video by Dan Peters on Flickr.

I can't speak for the rest of the audience, but personally I hadn't had a chance to give the new album a listen before the gig - it had only been out a week or so before I disappeared to Hungary. I've always enjoyed the laid-back introspective offerings of Lambchop's previous (and prolific) material, but was pleasantly surprised at the more upbeat selection played last night - loungy and soulful, and peppered with the usual country and post-rock influences, it certainly tickled my own particular musical taste buds. It's not often you get to hear a new album for the first time in this context, and it felt like a rare privilege indeed.

Sussex Gastro Pubs Series: Lunch at the Thomas Kemp

What is now The Thomas Kemp in Kemp Town has been through several incarnations before becoming the civilised bar/restaurant it is today. I first remember it as the Burlington - a slightly seedy grunge bar, which was then bought by the now (thankfully) defunct Polar Bar chain - never quite right for the sophisticated surroundings of the village. We have no shortage of decent pubs, and several nice restaurants in Kemp Town, but The Thomas Kemp has filled a noticeable gap between the two. We rarely go there of an evening, though it does seem to have a fair few events going on. But it's a good lunch venue for when you fancy something a bit fancier than pub grub but not quite as posh as Blanch House. The ever-changing menu is imaginative and well executed, with plenty of vegetarian options on offer. Decorated with antique map wallpaper, it is light and airy, and you can even see the sea if you sit down the front end, which we did today.

I ordered the red pepper and sweet potato soup (pictured), which came with lovely hunks of freshly baked french bread. Also pictured here is Ant, tucking into his mackerel with chilli sauce, salad and rice - which I'm told was very good. We both treated ourselves to a beer, and sat reading the paper for a bit before popping across to Bona Foodie to pick up some cakes for afternoon tea later. I love wandering down to Kemp Town on a Saturday, because you can get most things you would need without all the hassle of ploughing through town, and you usually bump into some familiar friendly faces along the way. Today our lovely dentist was on the table next to us in the TK. He looks so much younger in his weekend clothes, it was quite perturbing!

Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan, St George's Church

Mark Lanegan can come and read me bedtime stories any time he likes. Gravelly doesn't quite cut it as a description of his vocal talents - imagine a fist punching through warm treacle into broken glass and you will be close. Formerly lead singer with Seattle grungers the Screaming Trees and some-time vocalist with Queens of the Stone Age, Lanegan has now formed an unlikely musical partnership with ex Belle & Sebastian singer/cellist Isobel Campbell, with whom he is currently touring, following the release of their second album together. I caught them last night at St George's in Kemp Town, one of my favourite live music venues in Brighton.

Maybe it's my imagination, but the makeshift stage at St George's seemed to be even more poorly lit than at previous gigs, so that you could hardly make out the features of the performers. This combined with the fact that neither Lanegan or Campbell showed any effort to engage with their audience between songs, made for a strangely flat gig. The music itself was interesting - echoes of Nick Cave and Tom Waits, with a distinctly alt-country flavour (in other words, right up my street). Lanegan got by on the strength of his spine-tingling vocals, but Campbell's delicately ethereal voice was largely lost under the excessively enthusiastic (and for this small venue, just excessive) backing band.

The whole point of going to see a band live is to break down the barrier between artist and audience - to hear and see the music emerge from its creator and in doing so, enhance one's long term appreciation of their material. When musicians don't appear to be enjoying themselves, or even attempting to inject any enthusiasm into their live performances, it only serves to maintain and even reinforce that barrier, which does rather defeat the object. Both Lanegan and Campbell clearly have talent, and are making some compelling music together, but they lack any on-stage charisma, and come across as distant and aloof. If you are considering going to see them live, I would recommend spending the money on buying the new CD and staying home to listen to it instead. You'll probably get more out of it that way.

Five Years Later, Low Still Rock

One of the first gigs I went to when I officially moved to Brighton was Low at St George's Church. Five years and several hundred bands later, it still ranks among my best-ever gigs. As I mentioned in my post about Iron & Wine, St George's is a super-atmospheric and acoustically blessed venue, particularly good for anything mellow or folky. Back then, Low were pretty much the epitome of 'Slowcore', they may have even invented the genre. Apparently the band members don't actually like this term, but it does quite accurately describe their distinctive combination of minimalist arrangements and slow soothing tempos. The last couple of albums have moved away from this format slightly, with the rockier and more upbeat 'The Great Destroyer' and some experimental dirgey electro in the latest offering, 'Drums & Guns'. I was intrigued to see how this evolution would translate into their live shows, so when I saw they were returning to Kemp Town, I knew I couldn't miss it.

For me, what stands Low apart from other similar bands is the amazingly consonant voices of founder members Sparhawk and Parker (pictured above), whose haunting close-harmonies embody the unique intimacy of a married couple, to neck-prickling effect. The audience at St George's last night - packed in right up to the rafters - were absolutely rapt as they were treated to a slick set of old and new material. Even when encouraged by the band, heckles were hesitant - everyone was clearly too awe-struck to articulate their feelings, or too middle class and British perhaps. I'd purposely left my camera at home, so that I could enjoy an undiluted gig experience for once. Sparse lighting in the church makes getting a decent shot without flash virtually impossible anyway. The inevitable encore was passionately demanded and gracefully delivered - I was only disappointed that Sparkhawk didn't make use of the church's baby grand this time. But in every other way, it was the perfect gig, and I came out feeling inspired and becalmed.

A big thank you to Steve for organising the outing, and to him, Michael and Ant for being jolly good gig cohorts as always - Ant's man-flu wobbles notwithstanding. Depending on wireless availability in Hódmezővásárhely, this might be my last blog post for a while - as I'm off to Hungary tomorrow for the first of my dental trips (wish me luck!). I'm looking forward to experiencing some authentic Hungarian folk music during our stay, as well as the Guinness World record sheep-shearing contest, coach-driving competition, wrangling, horse-gymnastics, dáma horse exhibition, horse games (?!) and pig catching which will all be taking place as part of the annual agricultural festival. The mind boggles.

Sham and James Get Hitched

Restoration & Recreation

My poor bicycle, I call her Hedwig, has been sat in the hallway looking a bit sad for the last six months, since we were both damaged in an accident that resulted in a broken jaw and smashed up teeth for me, and a blown tyre and a few scratches for her. I finally got round to taking her in to get fixed at the weekend, with a view to getting back on the saddle in the next few weeks. Now that the weather is improving and the evenings are getting lighter again, cycling to work is becoming a more enticing prospect, and I think I am about ready to tackle the psychological challenge. So I dropped Hedwig off at G-Whizz, a great little second-hand bike and repair shop down in Hove borders, which is also handily only a stone’s throw from my favourite café in Brighton & Hove, The Sanctuary. At first glance, the damage was apparently not too bad, but she will be given a good once-over, and I will be able to collect her next weekend. This was a small but significant step for me in getting over the whole ordeal, and now that plans are also afoot for a Hungarian dental trip, I’m starting to feel a lot more positive in general. A celebratory lunch at the aforementioned Sanctuary café was inevitable, as was a visit to Taj, the best ever food shop (in Brighton anyway), also just around the corner. The clement weather only served to reinforce this upbeat mood, and sunlight was streaming through the windows as I sipped my mango and passionfruit smoothie, and wolfed down a plate of delicious potato wedges with garlic mayonnaise.

An obliging Nikki, apparently mid-sentence, on the South Downs Way

A long overdue girlie night ensued on Saturday evening, with a trip to the Hanbury in Kemp Town for We ♥ Pop, the perfect cheesy night for one very excitable gay man and five willing fag-hags. We danced our little socks off to everything from Kylie to the Beatles, and enjoyed the laid back vibe of the refurbished venue (it was done up a while ago, but this was the first time I’d been since the change in ownership), complete with ironic wallpaper and an extremely well-stocked spirits bar. A remarkably hangover-free Sunday brought more delightful weather, and a chance to get out into the countryside. My photography homework this week was ‘portraits’, and Ant was very long-suffering in letting me take endless snaps of him sitting in trees, pausing at gates and even tucking into a hearty brunch from the little café in Stanmer village. The intense winter sun was perfect for capturing the surrounding colours of the countryside, already sporting the first signs of spring - with the odd crocus bursting up, and even blossom on some of the trees. Nikki joined us for a walk, giving Ant a break from the constant modelling, as I subjected her to some paparazzi action on the way up to Ditchling Beacon. Brian was waiting outside, keyboard in tow, when we arrived home, and we rehearsed for next weekend’s big wedding – my first same-sex civil ceremony – at which we shall be performing ‘Nobody Does It Better’, with tongue firmly in cheek. This pleasantly eventful weekend was rounded off with the hilariously bad Ghost Rider, starring a typically hammy Nicholas Cage, complete with dodgy toupee. It is certainly a strong contender for the ‘Top Ten Best Bad Films’ blog, which I’ve been thinking about for a while, and am now newly inspired to write, so watch this space.

Adventures in Post-Rock: Explosions in the Sky at Concorde 2

A while ago I mentioned one of my new favourite bands Do Make Say Think, having just purchased their latest offering, You You're a History in Rust, which has since become one of my most consistently listened-to albums. In a similar vein to DMST are Explosions in the Sky, a Texan instrumental four-piece whose rousing cinematic style falls into the so-called 'post-rock' category. While I'm not usually inclined to pigeon-hole anything, least of all music, there has been a distinct, if accidental, movement emerging over the last ten years or so, which can be loosely traced back to quirky jazz-electro-proggers Tortoise. A refreshing contrast to much of the bland and vacuous indie bands currently invading the airwaves, the absence of any vocals makes this style of music both absorbing and anonymous, and often more deeply affecting than even the most poignant of lyrics. Like classical music for the rock generation, the listener is encouraged to drift off on personal flights of fancy, rather than being drawn vicariously into the singer’s projected experiences. I can feel myself about to launch into a major rant at this point, but will refrain from doing so, as I believe the music speaks for itself. I had originally only intended to post the above picture, taken at Concorde 2 on Wednesday night, where the afrorementioned Explosions in the Sky delivered a spine-tingling live performance to a rapt audience, from which I left feeling both bruised and exhilarated. Oh, and they also had really cool and unusually subtle band T-shirts on sale, so I bought one for Ant, as compensation for the fact that he couldn't make it to the gig, as he was in Brussels.

Recommended Listening

Music is the New Religion: Iron & Wine at St George's

A couple of weeks ago I went to see Iron & Wine at St George's church in my local village of Kemp Town. This still functional place of worship also serves as one of the best live music venues in Brighton - used regularly by top promoters Melting Vinyl to showcase an eclectic offering of alternative bands and artists. As well as boasting an amazing acoustic, thanks to its beautiful barrel vaulted ceiling, the church affords an unrivalled atmosphere that can turn a great gig into an almost spiritual experience. I'm pretty confident that the place never attracts such a prodigious crowd in respect of its primary religious function (other than possibly at Christmas), and I personally find it pleasing that in a time of widespread spiritual apathy, this lovely building has found another means to inspire the masses. Perhaps the most memorable moment of the gig, and a testament to the warm-fuzzy feeling engendered by the surroundings, was an amusingly middle-class and unusually friendly heckle between songs, when someone shouted: "This is brilliant, thanks" - a refreshing change from the typically inarticulate, and often disparaging cries, to which any regular gig-goer will have become accustomed. And it was certainly a most justified exclamation, judging by the collective whoops of agreement, which included my own enthusiastic seal of approval.

Burlesque Magnet?

While I've been slowly emerging from the surreal and slightly sordid haze that is the Lost Vagueness experience, my life seems to have rather spookily taken a turn for the burlesque... On Wednesday, at a wake of all places, I got chatting to a girl who turned out to be a can-can dancer in her spare time. We enthused over LV, and other similar events with which her troup is involved - and promised to keep in touch. Then last night I was in my local, The Barley Mow in Kemptown, for the regular pub quiz, and found myself sat next to one of the ex-barmaids who, it transpires, is now an erotic dancer with conjuring aspirations! She practised one of her latest card-tricks on me (I was duly impressed), and regaled me with flamboyant tales of nipple-pyrotechnics and public nudity. Having swiftly dispensed with the usual tedious ice-breaking period, we ended up joining forces for the quiz, and bonded over our shared passion for corsetry, travesty and exhibitionism. It was certainly a quiz to remember, even though we only came second (I blame the charmingly distracting prescence of my new friend). I'm starting to feel as though the spirit of Lost Vagueness is following me... perhaps tonight I'll end up on the dancefloor with some fire-eating stilt-walkers? Now that would be amusing...

Links
Ministry of Burlesque
Marlborough Theatre
Les Ooh La Las

Brighton's Best Pubs

Following on from my recent 'Country Pub Rant', I thought I'd share some thoughts on my favourite urban hostelries in my home town (I still can't think of it as a city), Brighton. So here's my top five, in no particular order...

The Barley Mow, Kemptown Village
Although not strictly the closest pub to my home, I still think of this place as my 'local'. It's cosy and traditional, with comfortingly simple and tasty pub grub. The staff are all really amicable, and always acknowledge their regulars, making you feel at home even when you arrive before the rest of your friends (which happens to me a lot - my friends all seem to have a punctuality problem!). There is a huge pile of assorted games in the corner, from Connect 4 to Jenga, and more obscure ones to boot. We've been frequenting this place since we became regular participants in (and fairly regular winners of) the weekly quiz (Thursday nights, from 9ish). Sunday roasts are particularly recommended - the portions are so generous, I've never been able to finish one yet!

The Lion and Lobster, Bedford Place
I used to live practically opposite this lovely, buzzy hang-out, which manages to maintain a 'locals' vibe, despite its central location. There is regular live music, of which Thursday night Jazz is especially good, and the food is pretty tasty as well. The decor is entertainingly eccentric - lots of old showbiz pictures and pages from magazines pasted all over the walls, and an assortment of random ornaments. Since they extended it around the back, there are plenty of dark and seedy hideouts for romantic trysts. I've also used it as overspill accommodation for parties etc (they have rooms upstairs), and am told that it's very comfortable. What's more, they throw in Sunday lunch if you stay there on a Saturday (presumably no-one gets up in time for breakfast!).

The Basketmakers, North Laine
Tucked away in a quiet backstreet, The Basketmakers thankfully escapes the onslaught of retail tourists who flood the North Laine at weekends, and is instead a haven for all kinds of local characters. The walls are covered with an array of vintage style tins (see picture above), into which it is traditional to put handwritten notes for others to read - always a good conversation starter. You can still buy a decent meal for under a fiver, and the beer is reasonably priced for Brighton, making this my top choice for a cheap and cheerful night out in the centre of town.

The Regency, Regency Square
The phrase 'Camp as Christmas' comes to mind when thinking about The Regency, and indeed the festive season is probably the best time to visit in order to fully appreciate the flamboyance of this legendary establishment. Decked out in faux-regency style furnishings, including in the ladies' (I can't speak for the gents', but am told its decor is also rather unique), it has traditionally become something of a pantomime set around Christmas. I sincerely hope that this custom will continue under the new management, since the departure of the fabulous former landlords. It's a great place for 'holding court' on a birthday or special occasion, and I always seem to get drunker than I mean to if I spend a whole evening there.

The George, Trafalgar Street
Although not particularly atmospheric, this one had to make the list purely by virtue of being the only all-vegetarian pub in Brighton, and because it has a non-smoking area, which is a major bonus in my book. There is a little yard out the back which catches the sun in the warmer months, and is covered and heated in the winter. The veggie grub is excellent, as is the selection of beers and organic wines.

Coming soon, 'Top Five Cocktail Bars', meanwhile:

Martha Wainwright at the Hanbury Ballroom

In complete contrast to the previous night's entertainment, we went to see hippy folk-chick Martha Wainwright, who was headlining at the Hanbury as part of the Great Escape Festival. I may have mentioned once or twice how much I love Martha's debut album and so was really excited about seeing her live in such an intimate venue, before she makes it really big, which I'm sure is only a matter of time. The Hanbury is a strange hybrid of school-hall and Eastern temple and doesn't have the best acoustic for live music, but it is only down the road from us, which was a bonus on such a windy, rainy night.

We sat through two pretty lame support bands, entertaining ourselves by laughing at a painfully inebriated couple who had obviously been out drinking all day. The girl was staggering around and shouting at the bands, while her boyfriend struggled to stay upright and kept one eye closed, presumably in an attempt to keep his balance. It was unsurprising when they were quietly evicted at the start of Martha's set, after a few inane heckles. Martha dealt with this minor ruction, and a few subsequent technical problems, with unflappable professionalism, keeping the audience rapt throughout. It was just her and a guitar – no backing band - but she filled the space with a powerful, penetrating voice, like shattered honeycomb dipped in tequila. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the classic “Mother F**king Asshole” which she delivered with conviction as her final number. There was no encore, but then how could you follow that? She mentioned Rufus a couple of times, at one point proclaiming “I'm related to one of the best looking men on the planet...help me out here” and I wanted to shout out, “But you got all the talent”, but restrained myself. I figured there'd been enough heckling for one night and anyway, she seemed quite affectionate towards her brother and might not have appreciated such an obvious jibe against him. I do much prefer her voice to his though – it has so much more depth and character, while his is rather whiny. I hope she soon reaches the kind of acclaim Rufus currently enjoys, she certainly deserves it.