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On arrival at the Academy, we realise that it’s better to be fashionably late. The awkwardly sombre atmosphere is braved through anticipation for support act Clayhill. A bit of post-gig research indicates that this young and brooding band have something different to offer than your average indie warm up band. Frontman Gavin Clark has a voice of a gravely, earth worn man. Wistful but alarmingly enticing, the pre- Beth bog break is put on hold to enjoy the dark wonders of ‘Figure of 8’. Hands thrust in his pockets and accompanied by an unassuming double bass, Clark powers through a set alongside scissor guitar wizardry from Ted Barnes. Tragically for Clayhill, people begin to wander as they realise that each song smacks of a reoccurring melancholy.
Enter Beth Orton, a bright and breezy bunny with the demure sweetness of an art student. Fuzzy and smiley in a floaty polka dot number, she stumbles over her self and begins a set with the romantic red lighting of a Zero 7 set. ‘Rectify’ is a middle ground beginning to it all. Her new music evidently does not strike as much of a chord with the crowd, who look on in complacency and blow clouds of smoke in the air.
Apart from the smoke, love is definitely in the air, psychadelic lighting swathes Beth like an international shag piece of Austin Powers. Lacking the cheekiness but strident in her distinctive voice, ‘Hearts Of Soul’ is a trippy show that overtakes a simple and earnest delivery. Working through the a selection of tracks from ‘Comfort of Strangers’, we experience an amusing faux accordion solo, a static crowd and an increasingly niggling Beth who yelps an exuberant "Thank youuu" after each song.
Now lets not be mean. She’s a gorgeous young being and treats the crowd as an intimate audience. Eveyone cheers for ‘She Cries Your Name’, but for, Gigwise, the religious questioning of ‘God Song’ strikes chords in her deviant thinking. Clever and emotional, Beth shines through and puts the extra mile into delivery, scooting off to return and play more of her new album.
After a coy introduction to the band, she takes up harmonicas, Jim O’Rourke’s on marimba and percussion and the set ends as peacefully as it began. The academy staff breathe a sigh of relief that they do not have a barrage of pissed students to contend with. As they leave, folk stack up their pint pots and file out onto the street.
