Cara Dillon, Artsdepot, London (March 2010)

Joy Thomas longs to get out of the stalls

First things first: Cara Dillon has a Proper Lovely voice. Nothing new in that comment, but her voice really is extra-special. It sounds so effortless, so clear and makes you lean into it in order to stuff as much as possible into your ears. This tour has seen Cara’s voice being more at the forefront than usual; rather than a full backing band she has just been accompanied by her husband, Sam Lakeman-with-his Lakeman-jaw, who contributed piano, guitar and facts.

Now then, I do confess that possiblymaybesometimes I have found Cara Dillon to be a bit twee. However I don’t know whether it was some magic cast by her live performance or the fact the music seemed more pared down but I was definitely much more impressed at this gig than I am when I listen to a CD.

Cara is so personable and comes across, along with Mr Lakeman, as being Really Awfully Nice. She apologised for having a bit of a tickly cough and, whilst Sam paused to re-tune his guitar, chattered happily to the audience about playing with her twin sons on the morning of the gig. Her comfort on stage and love of the music was unquestionable; here is a woman doing the job she was born to do.

But… (oh come on, there’s always a but) there was just something a bit soulless about this music being performed in a theatre space with everyone sitting neatly in rows watching in reverential silence. Tales of broken-hearted girls becoming crazy recluses, of homesick sailors remembering their distant home, of friends divided by The Troubles; these tales all felt a bit sanitised and removed, something I feel they wouldn’t have been if we’d been in a more initimate venue. To me, folk music will always work best in pubs, clubs, or at least more ‘democratic’ rooms where people jostle and share space and seats. In fields, in tents, in front rooms, in sheds. Not in a hushed theatre. It almost felt like we were watching the memory of something that was exinct, almost a tribute to folk music. Like seeing artefacts laid out neatly in a museum; there was something final about it, something pickled, labelled and preserved.

Having said this, people did join in with some songs when Cara encouraged them, but it was low and polite and controlled. The low, sorrowful hum accompanying There Were Roses was quite moving … but I didn’t feel able to lose myself in it in seat H3 of the stalls. At no point was there a chance of anyone getting carried away, of talking to her, of shouting suggestions. And if they had it would have felt really inappropriate.

Cara and Sam were obviously very comfortable and pleased to be in the space and expressed a hope to return. I do concede that the sound quality was more professional than you could ever hope for in a more coarse venue; the excellent sound system (and Techie) meant each note reverberated and almost quivered in the air which could be pure joy. And ok, looking round, it seemed like the clientele were possibly more inclined towards theatre rows than rickety bar stools or muddy fields so perhaps she’s aimed it exactly right for her die-hard fans. Nonetheless this gig confirmed that, for me, however powerful and talented the musicians, a large part of live folk has to do with the atmosphere created, the roughness around the edges, the shared sense of the grubbiness and mistakes of humanity.

Joy Thomas