A laminated copy of the Marian antiphon Regina Coeli lies meditatively, at ease, in the reverse of one of many congregated chairs beside an abandoned, crumpled can of Carlsberg. Its first line reads: 'Joy to Thee, O Queen of Heaven. Alleluia!' and while comparing Al Spx, the core of Cold Specks to the Blessed Virgin Mary may be outlandish, or blasphemous, or what have you, her voice, in the sombre setting of St. Pancras Old Church, resonates quite divinely. The convened mill about the candlelit chamber, plastic cups brimming with crimson liquid, and with an extensive wait before Spx and her six-piece backing band take to the stage, the mind is led to believe it must be mulled wine, as we anxiously await an equally seasonal Midnight Mass. They do, however, eventually emerge just gone half nine as the varied yet commonly incandescent sounds of Dark Was The Night subside on a dank, gloomy night in North London. With a despondent atmosphere brewing within, the night is in grave need of redemption...
With a throne planted stage-centre Spx takes to it, flanked by a cellist and guitarist who superficially looks as though he'd be more at home thrashing out Hash Pipe from a Gibson humbucker. Both provide quite sumptuous baritone backing vox throughout, before a bass saxophonist, bewhiskered little trumpet boy, keyboardist, and a most superb drummer emerge onto the pulpit, into visibility. From the frenetic rhythms of Hector to the wayfaring twang of Steady, with the LP aired in its entirety (and "more or less in the same order"), Spx demonstrates that she's more than capable of producing hymns suffused with Gospel swing to match her stunningly rusted, almost withered vocals. As feels fated, Holland, the track today released via paradYse records, is the evening's most breathtaking number as wafts of the woebegone are brushed away by the marching rhythms and general hopefulness of its second half. Its New Testament if you will. The stirring off-kilter slant of Lay Me Down bleeds into an a capella rendition of Bascom Lamar Lunsford's Goodbye Dear Old Stepstone and as the 'doom soul' fades to black, we're left feeling embalmed in empowerment, Yeasayer's perky Tightrope seeping from the speakers. A special one with a spectacular voice and seemingly a record that's equally so, while Feist may have tonight attracted many to the London Palladium tonight, that's the sort of apex of success to which Cold Specks can surely aspire.
