Joanna Newsom
>> City Halls, Candleriggs 
>> 14th January 2007
In trying to describe this experience I’m reminded of the look in old rockers’ eyes as they wistfully recall that fateful day back in 1979, during which their young and exhilarated eyes bore witness to Robert Plant’s god-like Knebworth antics. I can honestly visualise myself twenty years from now, in some suburban bungalow, bombarding my rebellious teenage daughters with numerous tales of how magical it was to see ‘that Joanna Newsom gig’ live at Candleriggs.
Admittedly, the word ‘gig’ doesn’t really do the night justice. There are no stinky toilet cubicles or doors wrecked by graffiti, no irritating emo disciples or dusty tour buses parked outside. Instead, City Halls finds itself positively bursting with energy as frantic ushers lead neckerchief clad boho-intellectuals up towering magenta stairwells that overlook stiff, formally dressed string players. All in all it’s a rather suave affair.
We tiptoe quickly to our seats on the balcony as support act Alasdair Roberts tinkles with the tuning on his acoustic guitar. A few ancient sounding folk ditties later and the hall is once again filled with the soft murmuring of the crowd, as they wait in sharp anticipation for the arrival of the elfin queen herself. Thankfully, we’re not kept waiting too long, and as Newsom glides timidly onto stage in a simple white dress and heels, I feel all my ethereal preconceptions of the singer float firmly away. She mutters an entirely genuine ‘thank you’ into her microphone before positioning herself behind a giant, majestic harp. Met by eerie silence, she begins to pluck the first few skeletal notes of Ys opener ‘Emily’, the strings swelling and recessing beneath her earnest warbling like wrists on a hot day.
This is far better than any of us could have imagined. Van Dyke Parks’ astonishing arrangements are played out note for note as Newsom, the scurrying spider, draws us into her web of lyrical genius. After a quick hats-off to the orchestra, she launches head first into ‘Monkey & Bear’, accompanied on backing vocals by bare-footed drummer Neil Morgan. Once again, the song sounds nigh on identical to the studio version; a fact which is by no means detrimental to the audience’s enjoyment of the live experience. Newsom’s stage presence is magnetic enough to keep the audience completely captivated during even the most lengthy songs.
‘Sawdust and Diamonds’ is a particular highlight as it allows us the opportunity to hear Newsom’s delicate harping without the backing of the orchestra. She seems to have no problem filling the room, and leads straight into ‘Only Skin’ with increased confidence. We are surprised to learn that this is the first time she has ever played with an orchestra, as her seamless performance gives little away. By the time ‘Cosmia’ reaches its triumphant climax I can scarcely believe that almost an hour has passed by! As Newsom rises to her microphone I half expect a goodbye, but am pleasantly surprised when she yelps “We’ll be back in twenty minutes!”
In the second half we are met by a wholly different experience. Gone are the flutes and cellos, to be replaced with only Newsom herself. As she starts to play ‘Bridges and Balloons’ I’m reminded of why I started listening to her in the first place. Unlike the baroque grandeur of Ys, the songs from The Milk-Eyed Mender reveal a more insecure and childlike side to Newsom’s voice. She is joined later in the set for “Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie” by two of her band members on drums and guitar. Stumbling over one of the lyrics she later apologises, claiming that she is nervous because of the orchestra. I have an inkling, however, that pretty much every person in the building will forgive her without so much as a moment’s pause.
Whilst speaking between songs she appears amused and charming. “If I pronounce anything wrong you can throw food at me”, she says before putting her own folk-pop twist on a traditional Scottish folk song. My favourite part of the night comes when she auditions a new track from her forthcoming live EP, in which she squeals fiercely like a cork popping from a champagne bottle during each chorus.
At the end of the set I’m disappointed by the absence of songs like ‘The Book of Right-On’ and ‘En Gallop’, but clap feverishly nonetheless, as Newsom rises amongst a thousand thankyous, and waltzes off stage. The house lights come up and my heart sinks. “Guess there’s not an encore, then?” I ask my friend Catherine. She shrugs her shoulders as the fans continue to cheer, whoop and stomp their feet. No one is leaving it appears, and after about four straight minutes of rapturous applause the house lights fade back down and Newsom reappears, overwhelmed by the adoration she is receiving. She sits back down behind her beloved harp and starts to pluck the enchanting harpsichord intro to ‘Peach, Plum, Pear,’ and I’m absolutely overwhelmed with excitement. Scratch twenty years, I’ll still remember this show when I’m crippled, blind and riddled with Alzheimer’s!
> Vicki Cole
www.dragcity.com/bands.html
>> 14th January 2007
In trying to describe this experience I’m reminded of the look in old rockers’ eyes as they wistfully recall that fateful day back in 1979, during which their young and exhilarated eyes bore witness to Robert Plant’s god-like Knebworth antics. I can honestly visualise myself twenty years from now, in some suburban bungalow, bombarding my rebellious teenage daughters with numerous tales of how magical it was to see ‘that Joanna Newsom gig’ live at Candleriggs.
Admittedly, the word ‘gig’ doesn’t really do the night justice. There are no stinky toilet cubicles or doors wrecked by graffiti, no irritating emo disciples or dusty tour buses parked outside. Instead, City Halls finds itself positively bursting with energy as frantic ushers lead neckerchief clad boho-intellectuals up towering magenta stairwells that overlook stiff, formally dressed string players. All in all it’s a rather suave affair.
We tiptoe quickly to our seats on the balcony as support act Alasdair Roberts tinkles with the tuning on his acoustic guitar. A few ancient sounding folk ditties later and the hall is once again filled with the soft murmuring of the crowd, as they wait in sharp anticipation for the arrival of the elfin queen herself. Thankfully, we’re not kept waiting too long, and as Newsom glides timidly onto stage in a simple white dress and heels, I feel all my ethereal preconceptions of the singer float firmly away. She mutters an entirely genuine ‘thank you’ into her microphone before positioning herself behind a giant, majestic harp. Met by eerie silence, she begins to pluck the first few skeletal notes of Ys opener ‘Emily’, the strings swelling and recessing beneath her earnest warbling like wrists on a hot day.
This is far better than any of us could have imagined. Van Dyke Parks’ astonishing arrangements are played out note for note as Newsom, the scurrying spider, draws us into her web of lyrical genius. After a quick hats-off to the orchestra, she launches head first into ‘Monkey & Bear’, accompanied on backing vocals by bare-footed drummer Neil Morgan. Once again, the song sounds nigh on identical to the studio version; a fact which is by no means detrimental to the audience’s enjoyment of the live experience. Newsom’s stage presence is magnetic enough to keep the audience completely captivated during even the most lengthy songs.
‘Sawdust and Diamonds’ is a particular highlight as it allows us the opportunity to hear Newsom’s delicate harping without the backing of the orchestra. She seems to have no problem filling the room, and leads straight into ‘Only Skin’ with increased confidence. We are surprised to learn that this is the first time she has ever played with an orchestra, as her seamless performance gives little away. By the time ‘Cosmia’ reaches its triumphant climax I can scarcely believe that almost an hour has passed by! As Newsom rises to her microphone I half expect a goodbye, but am pleasantly surprised when she yelps “We’ll be back in twenty minutes!”
In the second half we are met by a wholly different experience. Gone are the flutes and cellos, to be replaced with only Newsom herself. As she starts to play ‘Bridges and Balloons’ I’m reminded of why I started listening to her in the first place. Unlike the baroque grandeur of Ys, the songs from The Milk-Eyed Mender reveal a more insecure and childlike side to Newsom’s voice. She is joined later in the set for “Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie” by two of her band members on drums and guitar. Stumbling over one of the lyrics she later apologises, claiming that she is nervous because of the orchestra. I have an inkling, however, that pretty much every person in the building will forgive her without so much as a moment’s pause.
Whilst speaking between songs she appears amused and charming. “If I pronounce anything wrong you can throw food at me”, she says before putting her own folk-pop twist on a traditional Scottish folk song. My favourite part of the night comes when she auditions a new track from her forthcoming live EP, in which she squeals fiercely like a cork popping from a champagne bottle during each chorus.
At the end of the set I’m disappointed by the absence of songs like ‘The Book of Right-On’ and ‘En Gallop’, but clap feverishly nonetheless, as Newsom rises amongst a thousand thankyous, and waltzes off stage. The house lights come up and my heart sinks. “Guess there’s not an encore, then?” I ask my friend Catherine. She shrugs her shoulders as the fans continue to cheer, whoop and stomp their feet. No one is leaving it appears, and after about four straight minutes of rapturous applause the house lights fade back down and Newsom reappears, overwhelmed by the adoration she is receiving. She sits back down behind her beloved harp and starts to pluck the enchanting harpsichord intro to ‘Peach, Plum, Pear,’ and I’m absolutely overwhelmed with excitement. Scratch twenty years, I’ll still remember this show when I’m crippled, blind and riddled with Alzheimer’s!
> Vicki Cole
www.dragcity.com/bands.html
