For an artist who wants to finish her first solo album quickly, so that she can “sing in venues more socially acceptable than Superquinn and the Luas Station”, Lisa Hannigan is certainly not lacking in support.
An eager and appreciative sell-out, sit-down, candlelit crowd face a stage with a glowing globe, a mushroom lamp and Christmas lights. Nag Champa incense drifts across the crowded room and Lisa leads five musicians with a range of unusual instruments through a scene that looks like a thoughtful travelling gypsy cabaret.
A trumpet, a xylophone, a lateral accordion, a banjo, a double bass, one drum kit, guitars, an electric piano, glass percussion, shakers and a blow keyboard all feature, but it is Hannigan’s hypnotic voice that entrances the audience.
She has an endearing, nervous energy between songs, twirling her hair and uttering soft-spoken things into the microphone that are impossible to hear, and it’s her honesty and vulnerability that make her even more likable and her music more believable.
The xylophone, glass percussion and dreamy vocals in ‘Queen Of Hearts’ all sound out a childlike wonder that runs through the set, and the post-song cheers grow louder from the darkened audience.
Also well received are ‘Pistachio’, a number on which she sounds like a melancholy Bjork one moment and a playful Camille O’Sullivan the next, and a quiet John Martyn cover that sends a group of fans who’ve travelled up from Thomastown into apoplexy.
It’s a bit too subtle for a few beer guzzlers at the back, but a gang of militant shushers act quickly to stamp out an unsilent minority. The musicians sense the unrest and raise the temperature with a mid-west sounding song where the brilliant double-bass player shines and all the boyfriends in the crowd tap their feet.
Captivating vocals and brave musical invention promise much for Lisa Hannigan’s first solo album. And look at that, I didn’t even mention Damien Rice once!