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With one leg extended, her toe daintily poised on the pedal, guitar slung low between classic blue jeans, Cathy Davey croons through thin, tight lips. The first 3 numbers have a uniformly jerky gait to the overdriven guitar and strummed-like-a-guitar bass. It’s blues-rock meets Brit-pop, half a notch down from the pace of Holly Golighty, almost as uniform in theme as in sound: the lyrics, invariably half whined, seem to all involve some form of relationship crisis.
Being new to her I wonder whether they are all part of the same story and hence the similarities are pointed. Almost as soon as this thought pops into my head, the sound shifts slightly, with the onset of 'Holy Moly' and its beautiful vocal hook that sets the neck muscles into an instinctive back and forth motion. When it ends you cry for it to begin again. This is all that was needed it seems, for them to cut loose. Suddenly the keys, previously subdued by the very low guitar, are clear and distinct, and Cathy shows the full capabilities of her vocal range with some piercing punctuations.
A new song, 'Big Guns', is a departure from the formula so far with a structured stop start intro and a cleanly layered sound. If it had been less loud and more intimate, it would have been brilliantly coy and seductive. Short and sweet, it could have been the number to really connect with the crowd, but the lady from Dublin keeps her distance. Even so, Freud would still have a field day with the lyrics: “Don’t take your big guns away,/ What did I tell you before?” The jumping piano that evokes a children’s ballet scored by the Adams Family creates a tangy backing to folksy acoustic guitar on the catchy jaunt that is 'Cold Man’s Nightmare': expect to hear it on the soundtrack of the next Tim Burton film, I shouldn’t wonder.
The final two numbers see further holidays into variety with drop always, hints of rockabilly and the closer 'Come Over' is all rather 70’s teen sitcom with attitude and added sass. All good stuff, but even though I was right at the front I felt much further away.
Being further back for The 22-20s might not have been the worst idea in the World: the boys from Lincoln are as loud as you like. The bass is punishing and the drum kit must have been very naughty indeed and it receives a massive smacking in mostly 4/4 time. Any passing ghost of past blues masters would have been proud to see their heritage being kept alive with more care and consideration that if they’d handed over their estate to the national trust. 'Such a fool', the first song they ever wrote and still great, lashes onto repeated riffs and lyrics, while the two openers have Hendrix written large across them.
The bassist struts, stamps, pouts, looks, flicks and swaggers like Jagger, and front man Martin is the model of intensity. The only problem with the volume is it makes it almost impossible to hear the piano unless you stick your fingers in your ears: which is a shame, cos it looks like Charly’s having a ball. You can hear the Hammond though, especially on the closing number with it’s squelchy bass, scratchy riffs and straight-outta-the-Blues-Brothers close.
But I’m rushing ahead. Forth number 'Baby Brings Bad News' is a little easier, with suggestions of a sing-along chorus, but the respite is momentary as they are soon back in full swing adding shades of alt-country on 'Such a fool'. Then there is a genuine respite as 'Friends' sees Martin alone with an acoustic guitar for the song of the night; very Dylan in both style and sentiment. '22 Days' sees them pile back in, all hammer and tongs, with a fine Clapton-esque solo, and then it’s the final number. The packed crowd were in fine form: hints of moshing, and seasoning of sing-along, several handfuls of camera phones, and clearly loving it. Why the crowd didn’t get the encore they demanded is beyond me?
Photos by Theo Berry
More information, www.cathydavey.co.uk www.22-20s.com
