I feel blessed. On Monday night, I walked into a Dalston Café and watched two sublime talents play their hearts out.
Months ago, Hiss Golden Messenger was a lucky find – somebody we’d share on Facebook and bemoan for a lack of worldwide acclaim. He sings like The Tallest Man on Earth (my voice is coarse but it’s very proud) and writes melodies wisened by Southern country and folk. He’s the kind of artist you support in your small way, resigned to the possibility that in a big world with tight budgets, you may never watch him perform.
Then he came to London. Accompanied by the kind and hugely talented William Tyler, the two took us to Nashville and back, treating the sellout crowd to instrumental stories, haunting melodies and deeply personal tales. That I’d chanced upon this music, that they happened to go on the road and that the tour happened to land in Café Oto makes for a very happy arrangement. As I said, I feel blessed. Niche shows have this effect on you: that sense of accomplishment at having rooted out and witnessed the talent – we did it, we’re here! Glastonbury eat your heart out!
I didn’t take photos of the evening, nor did I jot down notes. The mood was such that any short break would have jarred my experience. I did, however, record a discreet ninety seconds of the closing number, introduced as a song about a donkey. Balthazar’s Song opens Hiss’s Bad Debt EP: a low-fi, acoustic record that scored a road trip I made with friends some time ago. Every sudden movement, and the CD player would jolt and Michael Taylor would begin crooning: ‘are you with me now / I’m working like a mule’. We heard it innumerable times, but we didn’t mind.
Bruce Sigrist 