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.