The Clientele

Absolutely, more than anything else discovered this evening, it becomes clear that churches, far from being a place for dogmatism and elaborate ceremony, are custom-built for performance. The booming echo, the arcane Anglican architecture, the automatic reaction of all attendees to be silent as is possible, it all points to genuinely affecting experiences in the company of the right artist. The key is to be sympathetic to your room, to understand its strengths and idiosyncrasies and, above all, exercise some sensitivity. When you're lucky enough to be playing in a venue such as St Giles in the Fields, one mustn't become complacent.

The Clientele don't quite understand this tonight. They detach themselves from the congregation somewhat with a light swagger that would settle finely in a scummy, low-ceilinged boudoir, but is a little uncomfortable when you can see the church employees looking genuinely uneasy at inviting rock 'n' roll into their building. Atheists The Clientele could well be, but you must respect your surroundings in circumstances such as these. When the Bowie-a-like singer swaggers that little bit too much and his violinist pokes him humorously with her bow, it's almost as if the situation genuinely needed defusing. Their songs, though, are the equivalent of what near-forgotten drone-pop masters Saloon would have sounded like by now if they'd stayed together, but with a rather distracting Darren Hayman impersonation stuck over the top. They are fine and seem to illicit no little love from the congregation, but one feels that these songs could be more diverse and less prone to distractingly tasteless guitar solos at their peaks.

Praise be, then, for Sodastream. Their soft music is perfectly suited to this kind of intimate performance, and they fill the nave with slithering double bass, chiming acoustic guitar and the kind of sweet poise that automatically makes you lean forward and place your elbows on your knees. Staggering silence welcomes each song, no-one dares disturb the ambience. As Pete Cohen and Karl Smith tell their tales of hookers and pissed-up assailants, it would be easy to conclude that they have no place in this venue either, but Sodastream have magic on their side. They create a full and surrounding bubble of warmth that covers the congregation in their very own sadness, sunshine and observations. It is, to use an overused word, spellbinding. 'Firelines', from their latest Reservations LP, is scintillating in the exposition of its minutiae, and tracks from their unreleased EP from 2005, Take Me With You When You Go, make one wonder why they remain unavailable in shops. I bought one from the merchandise stand, so I'm alright, but what about everyone else?!

When the musical saw comes out, it could well be time to start leaving and tutting that they were doing so well until they made it into a circus show, but it turns out to be just as perfect as the rest of the set. The ghostly wobble of the saw adds a distinctly murderous colour to 'Let It All Turn Black', the deathly beauty of which renders the whole church totally engaged. Sodastream display an impeccable ability to hold our attention, no matter their mood. They get bouncy, they get plaintive and, in one song in particular played as a tribute to a late friend, they get unspeakably poignant. But they remain entertaining throughout.

God has been given a treat in one of his houses this evening. He should give thanks unto Sodastream, for tonight they are perfect.