I was concerned that another stripped back performance so soon after the remarkable Laura Marling last
week would be an anti climax. The parallels were striking: Neil Halstead also
appeared on stage accompanied only by a pair of acoustic guitars, and had an even
more minimal lighting set-up. The tiny venue allowed for greater intimacy,
and the audience was completely silent in their rapt concentration. Both sets were notable for their emotional maturity, in Laura's case way beyond her years, but the 44 year old Neil Halstead's lyrics also have depth. These two English folk singers have both been disparaged in the past for their upper and middle class backgrounds, yet each feels utterly sincere and true to themselves.
Neil made a joke about being nervous early on in the set, but his quiet, self deprecating humour was endearing. He seems comfortable with his eccentricities, as evidenced by the song Palindromes. After accepting requests from the audience, he forgot the words to a couple of songs: this only added to the authenticity. The gig was part of the Cheshire town of Nantwich's Words and Music Festival, co-directed by Thea Gilmore. The atmosphere was that of an informal, relaxed gathering, no set list being in evidence, with a refreshing lack of polish. Neil moved to Cornwall from his native Reading to pursue his love of surfing: he told us with delight that one of his guitars had been made by a surf board maker, and that it would be a fine instrument if it didn't keep going out of tune.
There's nothing shambolic about Neil's playing, which was beautifully intricate, and his use of a pedal gave an country flavour to some songs. Instrumental sections seemed to take on a heightened importance, going beyond mere accompaniment. He briefly employed an harmonica, which didn't audibly suffer from having been stood on earlier in the day, but there was no sign of the piano from his most recent album, Palindrome Hunches. He played with a full band at London's Bush Hall last autumn, but as with Laura Marling, I had no craving for a fuller texture. Husky vocals conveyed raw emotion, the ends of sentences seemingly fading away to bring a hushed end to phrases.
The music is refreshingly simple British folk, with transatlantic influences of Dylan and Neil Young, showing few obvious signs of his shoegaze days (he helped to define that genre with the band Slowdive). Yet, he has the ability to draw you in to a private world, to the exclusion of all else. He wore a t-shirt with 'The Innermost Limits of Joy' written on it: this was a magical experience for introverted souls. I was deeply moved by the emotion of the mostly melancholy songs. An interview speculated that this darkness can be attributed to his separation from his wife and twins, and indeed he sang a song dedicated to her. Neil said: "Spin The Bottle is very personal. I find that a hard one to sing. But I think music should be like that – a little bit therapy and a little bit art."
Where Neil diverges from Laura Marling is in his vocal and stylistic range: whereas her voice is incredibly versatile, and her song writing ranges widely in mood, his consistently hushed Nick Drake like delivery is more limiting. Yet, it's a place from which I was reluctant to emerge after the 75 minutes in his company. Neil ended with a song called Sometimes The Wheels, which he explained was about a salesman who knocked on his door one morning. They were selling Jesus Christ, or 'the big JC' as he puts it. This may offend some, yet his views are independently and strongly held. He sees little need to bow to the whims of fashion or crave attention. In a week when the media is full of the buzz of Lorde and the controversy of Miley Cyrus, it is refreshing that there are artists prepared to quietly let their music speak for itself.
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