SOAK AT THE FLEECE

October 2015

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ROBYN:

So there we were, at that loveable and time-honoured venue, whose name roots it in revered Bristol heritage. Having strolled in just a little before the support was due to go on; we were stood quite comfortably on the concrete floor, between the two central cobwebbed-pillars where, if you look up, you can see the rather jokingly displayed ‘Mind your Head’ sign, far, far above the stage - if you look straight ahead; the darkly panelled platform, exposing the open stage with those yellow spotlights illuminating whirls of smoke, mingling behind the towering figures of amps.

If anyone would have paid a glance in our direction, a far less grandiose scene would have met their eyes; as we spent a great deal of the evening waging epic battles with the alarmingly vast and clingy Halloween decorations.

 

Thankfully though, no one was paying us much, if any, attention; for the audience was captivated by a duo that could have subdued even the most disorderly rabble; Rozi Plain, accompanied by Soloist and joint band member of This Is the Kit, Rachel Dadd. They pitched the most lullabious of ensembles and jingles; if I didn’t know better than to cheapen my writing with outlandish metaphors, then I’d have said Thursday night at the Fleece was a medicinal ingestion strong enough to sedate several large walruses. Frankly, I’m surprised we managed to prize our feet off the floor and walk home when it all came to an end.

 

Rozi Plain has a distinctly old-age sound; one that clamours of innocence and simplicity - with those characteristically reflective and conversational carefree vocals that murmur ever so softly of Lucy Rose and Feist – also, paired with Dadd’s flattering accompaniment, they emulate the dreaminess of Tuff Love, mixed with the fervently, clipped, harmonic vocals of Simon and Garfunkel – bar the sententious manner –  at times the nasal resonance of Dadd’s banjo reminded us momentarily of some of Cohen’s earlier music(‘Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye’), although much humbler. ‘Actually’ and ‘Jogalong’ are amongst her top winning numbers, each as beautifully resonating as the next and both showcase an endearing Alice Tinker-esque charm (Vicar of Dibley, people). On and on it went; and as the soft, soothing vocals swept across the room, the dappling mirage of colours thrown across dreamy faces by blinking, lazy stage lights nursed a dazed, captivating atmosphere.

 

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HANNAH:

When SOAK - aka Bridie Monds-Watson from Northern Ireland - walks onto the alarmingly empty stage at The Fleece sporting the largest emo fringe we’ve seen since 2006, there’s a fleeting glance around the venue to check we’re in the right place. This, unfortunately does no good; the surrounding people are a varied bunch - children, young adults, middle aged folk and near the front, an older woman with greying hair crowding up to the barrier like this is her first ever Slade gig. No more emo fringes, however.

 

Admittedly, these preconceptions were bad and pretty unjust, especially when SOAK opens the set with ‘Explosion’ a slow melodic tune that showcases just how ethereal her voice can seem in contrast to how young and small she seems on the stage. This does anything but work against her though; on the contrary, it makes the crowd seem to swell around her, straining to hear more, see more. There are no breaks between songs just yet; straight after she’s finished the first she’s already into the second song ‘Blud’, the audience continuously lulled into a hypnotising story: we could just stand here and listen to her play the guitar all night.

That is, until her accompaniment arrives, and suddenly indie solo girl becomes indie rock girl within a matter of chords. SOAK seems only heightened by the full band behind her: although not wholly needed, it definitely adds a new dimension- and one in which she also excels. The band explodes into a mixture of genres which they transgress through with ease; incorporating modern jazz vibes with a shoe-gaze flavour through a two minute instrumental which manages to feel like a cacophony of sound jolting through your body.

 

During the song ‘Oh Brother’, we spot the bassist using the feedback from the amp to produce the most rhythmic and haunting sound that follows Bridie’s sharp guitar plucking and delicate voice - a sound that continues to persist long after she’s left the stage. We walk away from the gig with SOAK’s voice lingering in the chamber of The Fleece as people start to empty, and as the illuminated ‘S O A K’ sign shines off the succession of polls, the words “lay down with me. Tell me your life” chase us into a chilly, Bristol night.

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