Cortney Tidwell

It’s an under-the-sea creature that can’t be tamed by either men or bodies of a more heavenly nature, a writhing, mythical beast of imperious power but that demonstrates an occasional grace that belies its destructive abilities. The voice of Cortney Tidwell is so forceful within these surroundings – spaciousness afforded a feeling of intimacy by the switching off of air conditioning – that front-row attendees can sometimes been seen grimacing under its weight. That it’s beautiful when delivered with control is undeniable; that it’s overwhelming when cut loose is rather unfortunate.

Here to promote her absolutely recommended debut long-player, Don’t Let Stars Keep Us Tangled Up, Nashville native Tidwell is on an obvious high; unlike her last visit to British shores, tonight sees her appear alongside her husband, too, whose contributions flesh skeletal arrangements out into full, but never over-egged, pieces of alt-country grandeur. When the songs don’t take a turn for the absolutely ethereal, that is: come the utilisation of an Omnichord, songs once dipped in luscious southern-State(ly) hues of silver stars and golden sunrises mutate into electronica-born, but strangely organic, beings, every stroke of finger on instrument sounding like a thousand fairy wings beating as one. These songs – those that catch the uninitiated off guard – owe more to the influence of Björk than they do, say, Mary Margaret O’Hara. Both artists, incidentally, have been namedropped into previous Tidwell critiques, and rightly so: Tidwell’s is a talent with the potential to equal any that precedes it.

An encore sees Tidwell step from behind drum kit – she’s able to attend to her Omnichord while also bludgeoning a few skins, simultaneously – and drop from the stage to the floor, where a grand piano waits. It’s here that any magic lost by the odd wayward vocal is regained, and some, leaving all before her quietly stunned into a brief silence come the final goodbye; then, the applause is such that any off-the-street onlooker would assume Tidwell was already an established artist, one who can command an audience with the ease of any great modern-day singer-songwriter. Insert your own names here, do – the chances are that almost any one of them would be appropriate.

As DiS skips into the night, we’re certain it’s only a matter of when rather that if for Tidwell, although a little restraint will go a long way to ensuring the success her wonderful songs – always balanced between delicateness and fury – deserve.

Photograph by Lucy Johnston