Charalambides

The intensity of a live performance is often so that leaving a venue speechless is a sign of appreciation, rather than boredom. Tonight at London's Luminaire, appreciation doesn't cover half of the emotion many would wish to convey, myself included.

This is a show so personal, it's as if you're the only person in the world who's been allowed to see the sun come up, hosted by two beacons of song, drifting in the wind between the confusingly dark joy of Christina Carter's faultless dawn howl and (ex-husband) Tom Carter's intricate hammering on a guitar, saddling of a wah-wah pedal and densely technical layering of sound.

Charalambides are a two-piece who simultaneously sound like an incredible soloist and a chorus of a thousand perfectly-pitched birds of prey.

To write this review in any way other than a personal account would defeat the point of how the duo's music affects the listener. 'Pulling at the heart strings' is a hackneyed phrase, but goes some of the way to covering how affecting and intense this performance is. A sway not unlike that of a night's drinking begins takes a hold of my body throughout, but having only been induced by the Carters' psychedelic choral folk.

Universally appealing and uniquely personal, this is a music most perfect and unchained. If Sigur Rós and their motley post-rock contemporaries were ever looking for inspiration in how to make beautiful noise, there is none more so than that showcased tonight.

Image courtesy: Upset the Rhythm