The Random Pick gig. Always a gamble.... but y'know when you go to a gig purely speculatively because, well, you can? And you haven't got a better plan? And then with star-aligning simplicity it works out rather well and you end up really glad that you did?
That.
So, last night was the last night of half term that the Cubs were away. There were a several of gigs that I'd really have liked to have gone to, but they were mostly in places that really didn't make sense - with complicated or impossible travel. Or in new venues in mildly awkward places, and I'm a bit rubbish at new venues on my tod. But I noticed that Pock Arts Centre had something on. The publicity bumph made Anais Mitchell sound good, but then that's its job. However a bit of Songkick rummaging for listings elsewhere accidentally showed up that she was also touring a couple of other venues I like and that lots of artists I like have played at. That isn't a guarantee, but it's often a good sign. I could have gone and listened to her, of course... but there's been a couple of acts, like Dolfish and Sallie Ford, where that strategy nearly meant I didn't go and they ended up being excellent random picks. Then Bella Hardy, who I saw and liked in Whitby a couple of weeks ago, tweeted or facebooked or something about being excited about going to the Radio 2 Folk Awards (she won, btw - Folk Singer of the Year) and name-checked Anais Mitchell and the dots joined up so last week when I went to Mark Thomas with my sister not OTP I asked her if she, and any of her dog-walking mates, fancied going along to Ms Mitchell. The dog walkers weren't game, but Granny Annie was up for it so we got the tickets. I did actually listen to a couple of her albums on the bus on the way to Pock. Quirky and interesting but possibly a bit too clever for me, I thought and I was mildly ambivalent but open-minded as last night found us negotiating the wheelchair into the Arts Centre lift. The foyer was full of the usual Pocklington worthies, many dressed in their glad rags for an evening of musical entertainment. A cluster of out-of-place looking 20-somethings and hipsters didn't seem to fit the typical Pocklingtonian demographic and in their absence I suspect I'd have been right at the bottom end of the age spread in the audience. The wheelchair spaces in 'the box' were available too, so we all got to sit there without complicated transferring manoeuvres. Right at the back but with a stonking good view - better than our booked seats - and it ain't exactly a big space.
Support was a chap called Phil, although he performs as Hip Hatchet. This being Pock he was on stage exactly on time. Skinny jeans. Check shirt. Black rimmed glasses. The biggest beard I've seen on stage for quite some time. Hipster-tastic. He said hello, and I realised that at the very least I wouldn't have to find an American accent irritating since he is in fact American. Some extended tuning followed - as he said, he'd made a schoolboy error by changing his strings before the show but he really hadn't wanted to be That Guy who was swapping his guitar strings on the train - before the finger picking started. For a handful of bars he continued to tune, head on one side in concentration, then once finally happy started in earnest. I really am no expert but it certainly sounded impressive.... Then, from the biggest beard I've seen on stage for some time, emerged the biggest voice I think I've heard. Ever. Half a dozen notes in my sister turned to look at me with eyebrows raised high (she does have our dad's rather impressive eyebrows and often uses them expressively to great effect) and just mouthed 'Wow!'. Deep, sometimes deceptively sweet, and with a quarry-load of grit and gravel on demand. Between songs as he retuned the misbehaving new strings there was wit and dry humour and the odd explanation of some of the americanisms in the lyrics. We got a couple of those explanations mid song too. He has apparently been touring since September (I did wonder if he'd just forgotten to pack a razor, hence the beard) and commented at one point, looking out at the rows of Pocklington's finest in their finery and velvet seats, how very lovely it was to not be in a pub tonight. Densely wordy and sometimes darkly humorous, he trod a precarious line between a set that was cohesive and one that risked seeming a bit same-y but as it washed over me I found I was happy listening to it and wanted more so I think he judged it right. I think Granny Annie liked him less, probably because she couldn't keep up with the flow rate of words and he strikes me as a singer where hearing the words counts. We all listened politely, applauded appreciatively and by the end of his 30 minute set he warranted a shitload of clapping and even a few whoops. The interval gave me a chance to run over to the cash point to get the dosh to pay m'sis back for the tickets, buy her a very delicious if massively expensive ice cream tub, and pick up a card (so that I could look him up later on Spotify) from the merch desk where his last few CDs were already selling out. I'll be doing some listening.
Then Anais Mitchell took to the stage. Cowboy boots, mini skirt and pixie good looks. No band, just her and her guitar. She discovered that her tuner was playing up and cursed our growing dependence on technology before launching into her first track. That quirky voice, live, seemed to have a depth and weight and edge to it that I hadn't quite expected. At the end of the song my sister looked at me and commented "That was just... beautiful." And it was. She did some from Hadestown, her folk opera about the story of Orpheus, and several that were from her Young Man in America album and one traditional one that she just won an award for, with Jefferson Hamer, at the Radio 2 folk awards. She seemed a bit shell shocked that she'd just performed it in the Royal Albert Hall but didn't seem to feel that Pock was a _massive_ comedown after that. After about half an hour she asked if there was anything anyone particularly wanted her to play and the requests came thick and fast. Confessing to being a bit nervous about some of them she managed to fit almost all of them in to the set and commented that it is quite nice to get that bit of audience validation when you're worrying that your set list is a bit miserable and maybe you should play something a little more uplifting but then all the requests are for the most depressing songs you ever wrote. She got Pock singing along a couple of times although, in fairness, that's relatively easy to do as they do like a singalong. I think my favourite might have been "Tailor", to which we got a complicated back story and discovered it had started off being about oil drilling in Texas and ended up being about nothing to do with oil whatsoever. Enthusiastic audience appreciation brought her back for an encore that brought her whoops and cheers along with applause at the end and a fair few of the audience on their feet. Then she popped backstage to check on her 6 month old daughter, who has apparently responded to her first international trip by adopting a rock'n'roll timetable of staying up til 2 then sleeping til 11, before heading down to the foyer to sign CDs which were selling like hot cakes.
They're both playing tonight in Sheffield, at the City Hall, tonight then he has a few other shows (Stafford, Battle, St Leonards On Sea, London) before heading back to the states at the end of the month. She has about a dozen UK dates to go.
http://anaismitchell.com/tour/Well worth a listen if they are in your neck of the woods.
ETA - oh, and the slightly out-of-place young'uns, it turned out, were on the same bus back to York as me and headed to the uni. Students in Pock. Definitely a bit out of place.
