Photo:
It seems fitting that Australian newcomers Angus and Julia should play London's Borderline, just a few miles away from where fellow countryman Craig Nicholls is making his comeback with The Vines at The Forum. While one group of superannuated Aussies bite the dust in spectacular fashion, another group of young whippersnappers is causing enough gentle ripples in the pond to make us consider that just maybe there's more to antipodean rock than the AC/DC and Nirvana posturing of Nicholls and compatriots Jet.
The folk brother and sister duo couldn't be further away from the bombast of such luminous titles as 'Fuk Yeh' and 'Futuretarded.' The frankly gorgeous Angus and Julia take to the stage with little more than a whisper, carrying acoustic guitars and backed by a drummer so quiet you'd barely know he was there. Taking turns on vocals, the alt-country duo are as beguiling as they are laid back on stage – songs like 'Mango Tree' and 'All of Me' are dusty, cracked and absolutely gorgeous, and the sibling's complimenting vocals, smoky, impassioned, like Damien Rice and Portishead, are a delight.
Even the venue lends itself nicely to the performance, the Borderline could be a bar in the back o'burke- wooden pillars, spit and sawdust floors and a string of fairy lights trailing across the back wall. It's all rather magical, especially during 'Paper Aeroplane' a percussive chant, built along a languid backing vocal, and during an untitled song about the perils of Hollywood, where the normally angelic Julia stuns the audience by launching into a (admittedly very melodic) tirade against Disney's cartoon characters. And while one set of long-haired Aussies yammers and screams themselves to a standstill a few tube stops away, two others are quietly spreading their wings in a basement bar. And that's just how they'd like it.
Former Easyworld singer David Ford has forged ahead in the wake of the underrated power-poppers' dissolution, jauntily perching a porkpie hat upon his newly-shaved cranium and self recording a debut album, ‘I Sincerely Apologise for all the Trouble I've Caused’. He's also undertaken a mammoth touring schedule, with just a few stops in England before busying himself with the rather unenviable task of breaking America. You'd forgive him for being a little jaded, but tonight is more like a celebration for the singer – a hurriedly upgraded gig venue (a ceiling giving in at the Old Blue Last, apparently) means a bigger audience of devotees to enchant.
Walking onstage alone, his first song, ‘Go To Hell’ is sung with almost no musical accompaniment whatsoever – Ford steps up to the microphone and begins looping backing vocal over backing vocal, occasionally dropping in sparse piano cords or beating out a primitive rhythm on a speaker box. It's arresting stuff, and his knack of crafting haunting, lovelorn tales out of simple melodies is obvious from the off.
Being joined onstage by his band seems to do little for his performance initially – almost immediately the power to his instruments cuts out, but, with good humour Ford still manages to throw in a robust version of single 'I Don't Care What You Call Me,' a broken hearted ballad that would put James Blunt to shame, if only record companies had the nouse to actually take a punt on edgy singer-songwriters. Casually lobbing in fan-favourite 'Cheer Up (You Miserable Fuck)' early on, Ford devotes much of the rest of the set to new material, even leaving his band stranded backstage as he plays a number that "I don't think I've ever played to anyone before."
It's a measure of his professionalism, and his good humour that he continually holds the audience in the palm of his hand throughout, never once letting their attentions wander. Whisky-soaked and hoarse, comparisons with Damien Rice and David Gray are apt, but easy. Much of his material is darker, an impassioned 'State of the Union' takes on Christian mores in America and is more reminiscent of former Mercury Award nominee Tom Mcrae, and 'Cheer Up' is as desperate as the title suggests, "And dust, it settles on shelves/ Will you shake me from myself/ And tell me I'm alright?" – Ford has the voice of a man with drink on his mind and murder in his heart.
After two encores, Ford departs, presumably to hop on the next transatlantic flight. It seems a little strange his record company feels his future lies Stateside – his obviously loyal fanbase in London are tiny by comparison to James Blunt's and it would make sense to build on this before embarking on a potentially soul-destroying jaunt around the highways and byways of America. However, with a voice like that, and a jaunty porkpie hat, perhaps, just perhaps he'll succeed.
.jpg)
