Margaret Glaspy At St Pancras Old Church

Several months ago, I heard a session by Margaret Glaspy on the Riley and Coe radio show on BBC6. 

I have been drawing along to their show almost since the beginning of the year, escaping from television wallpaper that doesn't do anything for my heart and soul. I've got to know their banter, and got to know their musical taste, both solo and together.

One of the pleasures of their show is the different calibres of vocalist, all of them authentic-sounding and unique. Of course they are aware of this, but what a pleasure it is to hear Blossom Dearie, Joan as Policewoman, Amy Rigby, Laetitia Sadier, Pom Poko and La Luz, all with minimally processed voices and maximum authenticity.

Margaret Glaspy belongs in the same category of real singers, threatening almost to yodel but never getting there, always landing perfectly on pitch whether whispering or giving it full throttle, with the poetry of her lyrics slicing through the aesthetic beauty of her vocal timber, forcing you to double-listen.

It was a no brainer. Tickets for last night's gig were the first of many that I have bought as I listen to the Radio 6 show and as almost always, I travelled solo so that I could listen properly and in peace.

St Pancras Old Church is a very special venue. I've been there a lot, and despite its character it shapes itself to the sound of whoever is playing. The statues, the carvings, the striking clock, the mystical shadows... in this case the shape was that of Nick Hornby, who was the support act. 

He has been writing a musical with Margaret, and he read us a short story from a rather incongruous iPad, a story about a woman who moves from US neighbourhood to US neighbourhood sharing enlightenment with the local teenagers, until they quite simply grow out of her, at which point she stages a death ritual and moves on. It was an unusual support act which held its own because of the good storytelling, but I kind of hope it doesn't catch on. Everyone in the audience loved the story, but what would happen if you had a bad storyteller? It chills me just to think of it, trapped there on a wooden seat like at school...

Don't even go there; go back to the Church, where Margaret is approaching the microphone with a perfectly gorgeous parlour guitar. She is confident and calm, occasionally telling micro-stories about gigs she's played, but mostly just playing and singing. Live, that voice is a lot mellower in real life than on her records most of the time, though occasionally she throws caution to the wind and rasps and howls, yet never settling in the sine-wave area that can make Joni Mitchell's singing so unsettling. Confident as a guitarist too, I have to resist working out her chords because I'm an audience member tonight. I'm here to listen and enjoy, and so is the rest of the audience, who are occasionally invited to sing along. At that point I'm a stranger, although I do recognise a lot of her material. 

Please don't hum along in every song, man in the front! Someone must have nudged him: he's stopped. This is a lovely, cathartic evening. It is also inspirational, and it wakes a creative spark in me completely unexpectedly. I have to leave early, but I take the warmth and originality of the evening home with me, along with a postcard of the church signed in advance by Margaret, given to me by the doorman. 

Now there is an artist who cares.

Sometimes, a night out leaves a very meaningful impression. What a pleasure it is to experience an artist who is comfortable in their own skin, who has found their audience and found their level, and who can mesmerise an audience into (almost) total silence and create such an atmosphere of bonhomie!

Roll on live music, roll on forever with the musician/magicians who transport us away from our troubles and away from the harshness of real life. Three cheers for odd little venues that people want to go to, to sit on hard wooden seats with people they don't know, united in listening to a live performance that will never be repeated again in exactly the same way. The little mistake, the weather, the steeple bell striking ten halfway through a song as the church joins in with the show. 

Hallelujah!