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.
The good shows are often those you don’t expect. In the mid-seventies, a young British traveller went to see ‘Bruce Springsteen’ play the Boston Garden. He knew nothing of the man; just another yank rockstar touring the area, hollering and cranking it up to eleven. Though our traveller entered with caution, he left the show elated. Whatever happened in those three hours must have been profound; some years later I popped out sporting the Boss’s own name (and fleeting good looks).
Leaving what’s familiar is essential to enjoying the wealth of music out there. Read the flyers, scan the Facebook feeds and rather than suffer the usual club night, use your Friday to support local musicians. While my father got to enjoy Springsteen in a time of intense publicity, 2013 is quite different. The circus doesn’t come and go and the big shots no longer hold court. We don’t get dragged to the talent; we must find it ourselves.
Enter Marvin Live – the London-based rapper whose third EP, Staged, launched last week to a packed Brick Lane café. Rap’s not my cup of tea – my use of that expression is proof enough – but I went along anyway, assured by Marvin’s newfound acoustic style. From the onset there was a distinct buzz of the low-key, independent venue: windowless brick walls, the band casually tuning up, nothing but a set of amplifiers between performer and audience. Given that Marvin had adopted both his stage name and EP title for the ‘live’ presence, listeners were in good hands.
Wriggling his way through the crowd, Marvin Live entered to a Link Wray-style Rumble, as if the band were bursting to get started. Whereas previous releases used an array of synths, samples and freestyles, Staged is grounded in an unplugged style that lends itself to the ‘big band’ sound that backed Marvin’s performance.
They didn’t pull any punches and launched straight into Katherine, the EP’s brooding closer about pregnancy and self-examination. Marvin drew a balance between honouring the song and entertaining the crowd; pacing the stage, his delivery, demeanour and use of space showed a performer at home in the spotlight. What followed was a fifty minute medley of raw energy, guest appearances, and an inventive Damien Rice cover (assisted by guitarist and Staged producer AJ Pillette).
There’s something to be said for the community of unsigned gigs. Staged had an edge unlike what you’ll find in the big stadiums. It was clear that many who turned up knew Marvin personally, having followed him through his formative steps. It must a pleasant stage in your career when the line between friend and fan is blurred. Heck, Marvin’s own mother was watching proudly from across the café, the announcement of which was met with resounding applause. Further cheers were made when guest singer Nat Ya took the stage for My Ex, while rapper Elshay roused the crowd for the funk-driven single The Right Way. It was a great gig, made all the better by showcasing the range of talent and enthusiasm around Shoreditch. That’s not to detract from the star of the night; Marvin Live possesses a refined and confident stage presence that will no doubt fuel him for many years to come.
The evening ended, and Friday night began. Backed by a jubilant crowd, Marvin raised the mic and the Kahaila café erupted to the sound of his early single Let It Go – ‘We can have a hell of a night, we can have a hell of a night’. Thanks Marvin, we sure did.
Marvin Live’s Staged is now available and can be downloaded for free at his website marvinlive.com
Bruce Sigrist 