‘A unicorn in the music business, ” was Ryan Adams on her a while back, and so, the primary focus of our ears for Phoebe Bridgers. From LA she comes, and together with like-minded souls as Julien Baker, Snail Mail and Lucy Dacus throws them under the cynical souls hard to ignore indie-rock a lifebuoy.
Unfortunately, Bridgers her set of acoustic guitars just dusted off before they get to the Club afzakte. They gave songs like ‘Georgia’ and ‘Would you rather’ is a swaying countrygloed with it rather than the spiky rockrafels that her beautiful business card Stranger in the Alps so pleasant to do, prick. Their fragile armor protected the songs also not against the boom of the adjacent Boiler Room.
As with the tranquil liefdesballad ‘Everything’ by Gillian Welch, which they in duet brought with her drummer Marshall. You swooned in the twinkling lights around her mic were draped and dreamt of Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris, but every time mepten intrusive beats you back to consciousness. Such a sad thing.
Shrouded in dense fog
It also didn’t help that Bridgers’ enchanting siren song constantly shrouded went into a persistent fog, you understood barely a word of what she sang. A pity, because the 24-year-old American has as its British example, Laura Marling skilled in razor blades conditioned, dark, sometimes even morbid poetry.
In ‘Motion sickness’ etaleerde them that with the spectacle, a nasty letter to an ex-boyfriend in which she to him, coolly, she tells them that every time fakete. Finally girded them that electric guitar, the volume went up and the audience ceased its endless chitchat. Unfortunately, that revival too late to the unicorn still to save.