Christopher Nosnibor
It’s strange but quite welcome to be seated. It’s been a while, after all, but: rather than serving as a reminder of those awkward inter-lockdown seated gigs from this time two years ago, it’s another example of The Brudenell doing a great job – the sold-out show has nicely-spaced rows and ‘capacity’ is fifty per cent of the norm, and the aircon makes for a comfortable environment compared to the thirty-degree heat outside – in which to watch two remarkably accomplished artists perform intimate sets.
On arrival onstage, Jo Quail announces that she’s made a late adjustment to her set – which proves to be completely different from the previous night’s – and opens with the sparse, brooding ‘Vigil’, which is almost folksy in its dark, mournful feel. The lighting, too is sparse, a handful of red and white spots provide limited illumination.
Jo seems relaxed and is chatty between pieces, and the low-key setting suits her set, and her ability to build layers of sound to immense cathedrals with crushing chords is breathtaking. ‘Between Two Waves’ is spectacular, and the four-piece set closes with ‘Mandrel Cantus’. She’s taking a gamble and forewarns that there will be a ‘shredding guitar solo’ if she’s feeling brave enough. With thunderous percussion, booming bass, weeping strings – all wrung from the cello – it’s a climactic finale that builds dramatically to conclude an exhilarating set – one that feels a little less full-on, but every bit as affecting as her more ‘rock’ sounding shows.
“My name is Emma and I’m going to play some music for you”. It’s a humble introduction before she says she’s going to play her new album, Engine of Hell, which is what she then does.
The album marked something of a departure, and emerged from a period of quiet reflection and detox, and being an intimate work, it was fitting that the attendant tour recreated that intimacy. The lighting is even more stark, more low-key, and she sings and plays quietly almost as if to herself, but the hush, combined with the mic placement and amplification mean you can hear her breathe, the stage and piano stool creak.
In many respects, Emma seems younger than her 38 years: she’s reserved, nervous-seeming despite her experience. But some artists simply never fully take to the stage.
She has a remarkable voice, varied, emotionally rich. She’s not so much of a talker, but a sense of self-effacing humour shines through nevertheless, as she announces the lugubrious acoustic song ‘The Company’ as “another uplifting song” She also reminisces about previous visits as far back as 2008 with Red Sparowes and the last time she toured with Jo, which saw the pair of them play the ‘other room’ at The Brudenell – which was, I can vouch, outstanding. Ah, 2019, with the tempestuous force of Dystopian Future Movies opening. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Jo joins Emma on stage for ‘Citadel’ and their chemistry is immediately apparent before a note is played – they chatter and Emma seems immediately more at ease on an evening she often complains of feeling a bit strange. It’s not quite clear exactly where her head is at, but then, we don’t need to know. Some nights, something just happens. But she plays on, and plays beautifully.
Having established that the encore is dead (and she’s right: it’s a construct so false it’s wince-worthy. Play all the songs or don’t), she plays just one further song from her back catalogue without leaving the stage "so we can all get up and go outside together". It’s a spellbinding rendition of ‘Marked for Death’, and she exists the stage almost hesitantly after exactly an hour.
With a performance this emotionally abrim, it’s the perfect set length, and even if I didn’t have a train to catch, the 10:30 finish is welcome. Less is definitely more, but especially with music this intense.
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Aural Aggravation 