The fact that The Voice focuses on talent rather than the sheer batshit-mental, ‘eccentric’ types we’ve had the misfortune to see on other shows, makes it seem fresh, exciting, nurturing and fun – everything you’d want in a talent show, basically (…and having the lovely Danny O’Donoghue as one of the judges may also have something to do with it)
Again, I’m revealing the fact that I’ve been away, and when it comes to TV, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Happily, I’ve not been disappointed – the Easter bank holiday weekend plus the terrible weather has given me no shortage of time to check out all the shows I’ve been missing, and The Voice UK is one of the programmes that has really hit the spot.
I’ll admit I had been avoiding this programme, simply out of sheer fatigue at more bloody ‘talent’ shows. From being an avid X Factor fan a few years ago, in more recent years I have found myself getting too bored to watch; too jaded and too disappointed with the cynical, point-and-laugh formula that the Simon Cowell juggernaut kept pushing out with energy-sapping regularity. The over-the-top music, the focus on ‘sob-stories’ rather than talent, the emphasis on the judges rather than the acts, the hysteria over the US version, the less-than-inspiring competitors, the similarity to all-round freak show Britain’s Got Talent, and the frankly medieval penchant for laughing at hopefuls without a snowball’s chance in hell; it was all too much, and I could no longer be bothered (nor was I the only one – even Cowell didn’t turn up to the last series, and viewing figures plummeted as Gary Barlow and the forgettable other three took over the show’s listing reins).
Actually, as I pressed play, I didn’t expect The Voice to be that different. However, its unique selling point of not showing the judges the singers until they’d heard their voices, seemed a tantalising and worthy attempt at reversing some of the superficiality of the aforementioned show, and I wanted to see just how it worked.
Despite a lacklustre start and dismal weather, folk singer Kate Rusby’s haunting melodies provided the perfect end to a slow and wintry Sunday
Summer shower multi-tasking: toe-tapping and holding an umbrella simultaneously (Photo: Alice Moran)
Wandering into the surroundings of the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park feels a little like being ushered in to a children’s forest-closeted den, hidden away behind trees and velvet greenery into a new, bohemian world where fairies (or at least, fairy-lights) linger and pixies abound. Despite such an exciting setting, which felt at first to be a pleasing contrast to the manicured lawns of the surrounding Regent’s Park, the atmosphere of extremely popular (and rightly so) folk singer Kate Rusby’s show initially struggled to get going. Although the first support act (no idea who they were, but their arrestingly manic, folky set provided a rousing if somewhat perplexing introduction to the evening) gave it their best efforts, the fairly middle-class, seemingly largely middle-aged audience huddled on damp seats as a kind of muted hush descended, a spattering of umbrellas (not strictly allowed) and a peppering of plastic ponchos bracing themselves against the wind and rain as the not-so-witty repartee of the second supporting act (formed, it transpired, of three members of Kate Rusby’s band), failed to elicit much response.
The support act: fantastic music, not so great stage presence...! (Photo: Alice Moran)
Rusby’s husband and father of their child Daisy, Damien O’Kane, the lead singer in the second band, is either a dryly comic genius, or a miserable old git. My indecision over which epithet to award to the stilted attempts at stage banter rather clouded what could have been a truly enjoyable start to the performance, although the music was energetic and playful, and the banjos, guitars and a bodhran, the typical Irish drum, saw me tapping my toes like a loon as the desperate desire to get up and dance a jig washed over me like the warm satisfaction that comes from a nice long Guinness. So far, so good.
Doris the dog
But really, and such is, lamentably, the lot of support acts, I sensed the evening wasn’t really going to get started until Kate Rusby herself graced the stage, and after what seemed like a good long while, there she was, walking unassumingly towards the front, drink and cardigan in hand, and looking all the world as if she was just doing a gig for some old, but great, friends in her local bar. She was warm, outgoing, professional and actually very funny, the syrupy Yorkshire vowels I recognised from her songs bemoaning the weather and thanking everyone for braving it with her. Halfway through she shrugged on a very snuggly-looking cardigan, spoke about her young daughter’s antics with some felt tip pens and the household dog Doris, apologised for having a bit of a cough, and, also, wonderfully, wrapped her incredible voice around the utterly absorbing, moving melodies for which she is famous, caressing the wind-and-rain-buffeted audience into a captivated reverie.
Kate Rusby, a wonderful performer (Photo: Alice Moran)
Athough I was a bit miffed that I didn’t recognise most of what she sang (as I haven’t much listened to her new album yet), I toe-tapped, swayed, smiled and sung along as if in a dream, emerging completely relaxed and never wanting it to end. Kate Rusby’s beautifully lilting repertoire is usually the last thing I hear before I go to sleep; an array of nearly all of her studio albums playing softly in the background until my computer turns itself off, so I felt a little sheepish if not very sleepy when Kate announced that this was her final song, followed with a weepy encore of the gorgeous ‘Fare Thee Well’. What about ‘You Belong To Me?’, I thought, ‘The Streams of Nancy’, ‘John Barbury’, ‘Andrew Lammie’, ‘High on a Hill’; the harmonies that nearly move me to tears with their beauty before carrying me off to sleep?
Top-notch guitar
I shouldn’t have been surprised – the nature of folk music; the ease with which artists cover other artists’ work; lend their particular style to the old traditional tunes, and the sheer size of her repertoire, means that Kate would never have had time to cover all my old favourites. I did happily perk up to sing along to Awkward Annie (the title track from my most-loved album) and recognised a couple of others, but the other songs passed by in a haze of exquisite melodies, lively lyrics and top-notch guitar playing. The very handsome double bass provided the anchor for the light over-melodies, while the plucks from the banjo reminded everyone that this was home-grown, hearty folk music, sprung from and infused with the history and soul of the land, whether Scottish, Irish, English or Welsh.
Despite the cold, despite the weather, despite her still-miserable looking but very sweet husband reminding the audience that she was fighting a cold, Kate’s vocals were flawless, and sounded almost exactly the same as the pure, resounding arrangements on her released recordings. There was no rousing standing ovation, no huge waves of cheering, no ear-splitting whoops, but a quick scan around the audience during a song picked up hundreds of knees and toes tapping in unison, and the polite but increasingly lengthy applause gathered in fervour as the show went on. After all, this was a folk concert in a woody enclave of central London in the dying hours of a rainy afternoon, not a rock show in a heavily amplified arena on a Saturday night. Admittedly, I would have liked more whooping, and more than once wished I was nearer the front (despite having a great view from where I was), so that I could make my appreciation heard in an attempt to rouse the sometimes-lacklustre audience response and let the band know that we did actually appreciate their being there.
This photo is a bit blurred but I actually love how it captures the light and the movement of the band (Photo: Alice Moran)
Bless them, they were trying so hard and Kate was clearly having a ball, but the wintery weather and outside aspect meant much of the crowd’s appreciation seemed to get lost in the wind – and I could understand O’Kane’s characteristic deadpan response when he informed us that the audience of their recent gig in Belfast were much more vocal. This was, however, one of several pleasingly tongue-in-cheek digs at Kate – O’Kane is from Coleraine in Northern Ireland, while Rusby demonstrably hails from Barnsley, so this apparently mocking comment snuck in under the radar as Kate responded with heartfelt humour and carried on, a huge smile on her face as she closed her eyes to the beauty of the next song.
All in all, I’ve been more excited, I’ve been more loud, I’ve been more enthused, but I nevertheless enjoyed myself immensely. The show’s atmosphere lightly improved as the sun went down, and any heavy rain thankfully held off to be replaced by a smattering of manageable drizzle. Walking out the of the show, past all the twinkling fairy-lights still twisted into the bushes next to a lawn of picnic tables, I couldn’t help but think I would have loved the show more if it had taken place in a bar or, fittingly, on a lawn, rather than in the faux-formal, slightly ‘make-believe’ and not-altogether folk-appropriate setting of a theatre, even an outside one, but I nevertheless hummed all the way home suffused with a sense of peace and wonder. Despite the weather, the slightly disappointing enthusiasm levels from the audience and the slow start, in the end my only complaint was that Kate Rusby, one of my favourite artists, with a voice of molten gold, couldn’t have sung for longer.
‘Fare Thee Well’ – Kate sung this as an encore (and she was also wearing a red flower in her hair similar to this one!)
Another one of my favourites, which really showcases her voice – ‘You Belong To Me’ (loads more on YouTube!)
Hannah Jane Thompson 