Lorna Irvine has a mixed evening at Oran Mor for the Celtic Connections performance.
Luisa Sobral, the Portuguese singer/songwriter supporting Katy Carr tonight as part of Celtic Connections, skips on in a summer dress.
While we may be wishing for a more Mediterranean climate in keeping with such incongruous garb, she and her fine band try to bring sunshine with most of the songs from her debut album The Cherry On My Cake (which has gone gold in Portugal) and new material.
There is no denying the excellent musicianship here: Sobral flits from instrument to instrument with ease- from glockenspiel to guitar, music box (on highlight Clementine) to harp. Yet her voice is something of an acquired taste, reminiscent of Feist or English folk singer Liz Green.
Joao Salcedo, her virtuoso pianist, is wonderful and there’s lovely brush work from drummer Carlos Miguel.
Sadly, it is all too coy, pretty and safe. Sure, you have to admire the sense of humour and mischief throughout the set, including a cover of Britney’s Toxic with double bass, piano and wind machine for added irony, but after a while the whole effect is nauseating in its refusal to be anything other than twee. As the band march off the stage, all playing kazoos, the audience is in love, but I feel like I’m being force-fed confectionary, as with the debut album title. Less sugar, please.
Headliner Katy Carr is equally frustrating, but in an entirely different way.
Her pre-rock ’n’ roll aesthetic is interesting, harking back to World War II’s spirit of ‘make do and mend’ and she and band The Aviators certainly look like matinee idols, but much of the material taken from fourth album Paszport , inspired by Carr’s meeting with 93 year old Polish war veteran Kazik Piechowski, fails to stir the soul as was perhaps intended- it’s too polite and doesn’t cut loose enough.
There are, however, some moments which dazzle: Violetta, sung in French, shows that Carr’s voice can really soar when she tries. Kommander’s Car swells into a touching paean to Piechowski’s escape from Auschwitz.
Hannah Lovell’s films, projected onto a backdrop, are beautiful, harking back to more innocent times with dancing peasants and footage of Voytek, a Polish bear who was brought to Scotland and symbolised the alliance between the two countries.
Carr is an undoubtedly charming presence and in possession of a warm, folky voice, but in spite of her talents seems to be more tourist than war chronicler, never really getting under the skin of her subject matter.
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