In The Gutter, Looking At A Star

Maybe I’ve lived a sheltered life, but last night was the first time I’ve witnessed a singer being barred from playing their own gig. The venue was London’s Soho Revue Bar – ostensibly the centre of British metropolitan decadence – and the artist in question was Laura Marling.
The queuing audience was still stationary half an hour after the venue was supposed to have opened, but eventually the bouncers started to let people inside. Then, when the twenty-five people ahead of me had entered, the line was halted with no explanation.
A few minutes later, my partner-in-culture rr appeared, fresh from some minor transport hell. What had seemed like a fortuitous delay transformed into a pain in the arse as we continued to wait on the pavement for a further thirty minutes. At least the rain was holding off.
The delay started to become rather odd. It seemed strange that many of the waiting band members were still chatting outside. Something was clearly wrong. Then Laura wandered out of the venue, clutching her guitar, and addressed the crowd.
“They’re not letting me play because I’m not eighteen, so we’re just going to do a few songs here on the pavement. I know some of you have come a long way.”
And without giving anyone time to think about the implications of blocking one of Soho’s smallest streets with an impromptu busking session, she launched into a version of forthcoming single My Manic And I, accompanied by her three musicians.
Clearly frustrated by the turn that events had taken, she channelled her energy into a captivating al fresco performance of six songs, also including New Romantic and concluding with Tick. Relaxing a little, she bantered with the crowd, maybe a little self-conscious of her mum’s proximity.
“I’m sorry you have to watch me in the gutter… next to two sex shops.”
I was reminded of the Oscar Wilde quote that I’ve been bastardising frequently over the past few weeks. What better place could there have been to view one of British folk’s rising stars? The location might have been unplanned, but it didn’t seem inappropriate.
You can put it down to administrative inefficiency, you can laugh at the bar management’s clipboard-wielding uptightness, or you can place this in a broader context of over-anxious, bureaucratic jobsworths stifling artistic expression. It doesn’t really matter.
What matters is that something special happened. Where minutes previously there had been a handful of cigarette smokers and the occasional man-at-C&A figure hurriedly entering or exiting the neighbouring sex shop, suddenly there was beauty, blossoming briefly in the moonlight.
It wasn’t the full set that the audience had been expecting, but in many ways it was even better. It was a magical twenty minutes and, as it drew to a close, it was almost an anti-climax to hear the announcement that the support acts would be playing inside as scheduled.
With all due respect to King Charles and Noah And The Whale, we declined the invitation to join them and instead repaired to the Coach & Horses to digest the evening’s events. I was pleased to learn that rr had found the whole thing as thrilling as me.
I’ve written about Laura Marling on several occasions over the past few months, so if you’re a regular reader you’ll know that I’m a fan. Her second single is out next Monday and it’s definitely going to be another one of my very infrequent CD purchases.*
Further reading, viewing & listening:

• MySpace: Laura Marling
• Flickr: rr’s lovely pics of the performance
• Flickr: caiusp’s comprehensive pics of the whole evening
• frizzyLogic: rr’s review of the evening
• YouTube: Laura Marling busking Part 1
• YouTube: Laura Marling busking Part 2
• NME: Laura Marling barred from own gig for being too young
• Drowned In Sound: Laura Marling on the streets
• Times Online: Laura Marling, alt folk darling

* Actually it’s not, because now I’ve paid a little more attention I’ve learnt that it’s going to be a vinyl-only release, with a booklet containing details of where to download the MP3s. But you know what I mean.