In an emerald green suede blazer and polka-dot shirt, tonight Jordie Lane was in high definition. The first of three shows in his hometown of Northcote was characterised by clarity. Lane’s very audible in between song banter was casually conversational and humourous, particularly his recount of seeking a sandwich in LA only finding himself thrust into an AA meeting, where he had no choice but to fabricate repentance. He’s a dexterous guitar master and he picked his big bodied Gibson like a relentless banjo player, creating a sound of cigarettes and honey. His well enunciated lyrics are refreshingly concrete. During the 90-odd minutes of wandering storytelling he name checked everywhere from Saigon to Hollywood to Bulli. He makes some familiar statements (such as the titular refrain of new single “I’m a fool for love”) but these are entwined with opinion-piece specificity. His everyday talk of sharing drinks and craving food sits beside heartfelt admissions of a lovers shattering gaze or third world desperation. He discloses the romance in the everyday without the slightest hint of sap. Sentiments such as “it’s funny where your feet fall, it’s funny who you meet,” could be rendered clichéd, but Lane lets you acknowledge the literal lucidity. Without trying too hard, his voice eloquently bends with the stylistic variations he employs.
The sound ranged from back-deck folk tales to more concerted AM radio rock and also encompassed turbulent blues numbers, complete with leading electric guitar, pounding drums and choral vocal sweeps. One of his most straightforward ‘rock band’ excursions even bore strong resemblance to Tom Petty. The Appalachian and bluegrass tenets of the setlist were the most affecting. In these environs greater emphasis was given to the portraits Jordie painted. The broader arrangements inevitably detracted from the camp fire intimacy and when the blues rock took centre stage it dampened the distinct personality that makes Jordie Lane so endearing.
Duet partner and keyboard player Clare Reynolds (a solo artist in her own right) was on stage for roughly half of the set and she was a delightful vocal counterpart. Reynolds and Lane’s voices matched like Emmylou and Ryan Adams and their cover of Gram Parons’ Grievous Angel could have lingered in the air all night. The rest of his backing band are all very good players but they are just that; a backing band. They stood back subordinate to Jordie and, while you didn’t get the impression he was trying to rule the room, everyone happily acquiesced to his charismatic lead.
Jordie Lane makes you want to make friends. There weren’t really any clamouring guests, but it was certainly a relaxed jovial atmosphere. In tune with the essence of ‘folk’, and in contrast to the hushed politeness instituted by the prevalent nu-folk scene, the folks at Northcote tonight were a familial throng. Everyone was united under Jordie’s presidency and rather than him actively administering obedience, it was an occasion of mutual constituency.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
LOVED: A crowd completely willing to follow sing-along cues.
HATED: No Jordie Lane vinyl.
DRANK: The early summer sunlight, held together by water.
