Review: Weyes Blood, SWX – ‘The writing may be smart stuff but it’s all carried by her voice’

It’s the night that the maestro of sophisticated Californian pop has passed to that great big freeway in the sky. It feels serendipitous that we’ve got Natalie Mering, who trades as Weyes Blood to spend the evening with.

In a world of contemporary popular music marked by reduction in harmonic and melodic ambition we’ve got a west coast songwriter like her to reassure that Burt Bacharach’s craft is still out in the world.

Mering’s thing is to take the arch, knowing chamber pop of the likes of Harry Nilsson. Mix in a measure of the melody and charm of a Carole King, then set that against ominous angsty lyrics of everyday dread.

All served with a heap of southern gothi; setting catchy tunes against dark intent is not a new thought but hers is a neat contemporary take which woos tonight’s audience.

SWX is packed, absolutely rammed. The pre-show expectation is palpable. She attracts an unusually broad audience evident from the adolescent screams that greet her every utterance to the chin stroking Mojo readers at the back.

Gothic is the things this year as she enters in her full length white dress against the shadowy four piece behind her. All tastefully lit by the candles at each side of the stage. It’s Not Just Me, It’s Everybody from her latest, critically lauded And In The Darkness, Hearts Aglow album sets us off.

The writing may be smart stuff but it’s all carried by her voice. What a beautiful, pure thing it is. Reductive comparisons to Karen Carpenter are off course no insult but the hymnal quality of her vocal performance really is extraordinary when it’s there in front of you.

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Oddly she strikes a somewhat awkward figure on stage. Moves seem pre thought and she works best as a static mystical crooner.

Andromeda has her best melody with an immediately loveable spacey guitar hook. Grapevine is the other hummable gem and tonight it is bigger and bolder than on the record.

Her challenge is that a set of mid-tempo and sad songs are inevitably going to sag a little in the middle. She seems only too aware of this and jokes about doing head flips by way of a distraction the night before.

Some of the staging such as projecting a heart onto her dress feel a little am dram in an attempt to add a bit of colour. When she reaches the poppy jauntiness of The Worst is Done it’s something of a relief to have a little light against the predominant shade.

She ends at the piano for Everyday, pouring her heart into another dark, confessional tune of all encompassing ennui. She’s the real deal and absolutely convinced me that she owns every word.

It’ll be interesting to see where her muse leads he next but let’s hope, especially tonight, that Burt was looking down with an approving flash of that Californian smile.

Main photo: Martin Siddorn

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