Nancy Wallace, Supersonic, Birmingham, July 2009

Abi Bliss gets a winter frisson in July

The popular image of Supersonic as a festival of metal and noise does it a disservice. True, a significant chunk of the line-up consists of serious-looking, black-clad types who sing like they’re gargling the stock of a DIY store. But Supersonic’s promoters, Capsule, are an open-eared bunch, and their pleasingly diverse programme always includes its share of folk and acoustic artists.

This year’s festival was no different, boasting Rose Kemp (daughter of Maddy Prior and Rick Kemp of Steeleye Span) with a harrowing, doom-hued reinvention of her folk roots, and fleet-fingered oud player Khyam Allami. It’s Suffolk-born Nancy Wallace, however, who was the most unmistakably folk act of the weekend.

Kicking off proceedings on an overcast and drizzly Sunday afternoon, Wallace started her set with Alan Bell’s suitably bleak Alice White, a tale inspired by the squalid conditions endured by Victorian workers building the Settle-Carlisle railway line. Like a younger, less formal Shirley Collins, her vocals fleshed out the lyrics’ human suffering – “Time came I was deserted, when my children numbered five / And I had to take another man, just to keep us all alive” – with boldness and warmth, and a clarity that was never shrill.

Tracks from Wallace’s debut solo album Old Stories had a sweetness and grace that was complemented by violinist Jennymay Logan’s accompaniment, whilst the faster-paced strumming of Lily of the West brought a wintery frisson to the traditional passion-fuelled murder.

It was with a song from her 2005 disco covers EP Young Hearts, however, that she proved her versatility. Following Robert Wyatt’s lead in identifying the bittersweet tang of Chic’s At Last I Am Free, Wallace turned in a swooping, yet vulnerable, reading that packed as much of a punch as any ear-splitting heavy metaller.

Abi Bliss