Went to see the wonderously named Devon Sproule last night at the
Cumberland Arms. The venue was wonderful; an old fashioned boozer,
comfortable, with an open fire and an equally open view over the
post-industrial view of the Tyne, nestled in the less than salubrious
surroundings of the Byker Bridge: the pub predates the bridge, it
seems.
The gig room is small, closed and deeply personal, painted in red and
wood. My legs were cramped for the whole time, because if I stretched
out I would have kicked the stage mic stand over. It suited Devon
Sproule down to the ground. The gig was gentle, intense and
personal. Her music is lyrical, her guitar fluent and her voice
delicate; there’s a slight tendancy toward being little girlish, but
it wasn’t overwhelming. In the second half, she was supported by bass,
drums and later pedal steel, but Devon managed to cut through
none-the-less. When the room got hot, the fire escape doors got
opened; I listened to the music while watching the British buses and
trains rolling past. I like to think that, perhaps, the music bleed
out over onto the bridge, and caught a few people who wondered where
it all came from.
One of the best gigs that I’ve been to for a long time, at a perfect
venue. I’ll be back there again, thats for sure.
Originally published on my old blog site.
