Jackie Oates, Borderline, London (October 2009)

Joy Thomas finds herself creatively excited

My friend Lenny always says that a room full of folk fans looks just like a room full of murderers: all those furrowed brows, arran knits and beards. Happily, this was not the crowd awaiting Jackie as she ventured out from her adopted Devon homeland into the stinkpit of central London. Well, not entirely. The man in front of me actually did look like a tonsured, thick-rimmed-spectacled serial killer but turned out to be a rather nice man called Richard who had lots of folk tips for me (The Smoke Fairies, anyone?). The Borderline wasn’t full (and it really should have been) but at least it wasn’t full of weirdos. And I’m pleased to report that the people who turned out had a damn good time, one and all.

I was slightly nervous about this gig: it would be the first time I’d see Jackie live but I’d just been a bit disappointed by her latest album, Hyperboreans, the album this tour serves to promote. Waiting for the band to emerge I was relieved to see a pleasant array of wooden instruments leaning neatly against the back wall and, importantly, no drum. What with Richard the Murderer’s folky chat, things were looking up.

The fourpiece opened with The Miller And His Three Sons , as they do on the album. However, unlike the album experience I really, really enjoyed the song (I got those hurty cheeks you get from grinning too much without warm-up). It’s such a great song (without a drum) and the band immediately created a generous and exciting atmosphere: we knew we were in for a good night.

Not only was the music ace but lovely Jackie proved herself to be quite the loveliest lovely in the land. With her three bandmates she shared a quiet, dry humour and a mutual affection; their obvious delight in performing the songs really connected with the audience. Jackie couldn’t help but smile whilst she was singing the brighter tunes: it’s a small thing but it really enchanted me. Another little thing I loved was the fact her dress was a bit crumpled. It made me think about what has always attracted me to folk: getting carried away with sharing stories and gossip and thoughts and then coming to and finding that you’ve got mascara on your chin and a leaf in your hair.

Jackie introduced the song Young Leonard with the words “This is a drowning song. Of which I have many.” Coooool. However, she didn’t just stick to Hyperboreans for her set list, delighting us with three tunes which made up what she described as a Cornish version of the ceilidh, among other things. These interlinked ceilidh songs were were so exciting, so fabulously enthusiastic and had me frantically foot tapping and arm flapping. Moments where all the instruments raced along together were just magnificent, making me feel full to the brim, bubbling over with merriment.

She admitted to being attracted to the sinister side of things but at no point does she vamp it up. She’s so clever at letting words and tunes speak for themselves without pushing too hard or falsifying anything. It really works at drawing you in. I scrawled “ooooh folk necrophilia” in my diary at one point, in response to a song my gigpal described as being “about a fella who came in through the window then they Did It, then it turns out he’s been dead for ages.” Despite this lurid description, the song still managed to be understated in the way Jackie does best.

This gig was everything I wanted it to be. She filled me with pleasure and inspiration. Illustrator David Atkinson has a theory about inspiration and the exchange of art: that people create art in order to return something to those who have inspired them. That is just the way this gig made me feel: truly inspired and creatively excited.

Joy Thomas (not a man)