What's the worst thing you can see at the start of any gig? A singer-songwriter with hippy hair and a floral dress, alone, holding an acoustic guitar. Lenka's opening act Megan Hamilton proved this by bringing a folk festival vibe to a pop crowd, and though they were an amiable enough bunch to encourage her somewhat, there was no real atmosphere beyond cordiality.
A lack of instrumentation outside of basic acoustic chords meant that her lyrics carried too much weight; a situation exacerbated by lines that didn't quite sit with guitar chords and lyrics that fell off the edge of the lines. The set, then, was somewhat awkward, and though her personable banter was endearing there wasn't enough substance in the music to allow for it. It was a shallow set, in dire need of a band, or at the very least, some percussion.
Lenka, on the other hand, was a smouldering ball of lovable talent. My preset anti-pop standpoint was melted as soon as the petite package of personality appeared on stage and I was treacherously close to aging 50 years and using the tired old phrase "cute as a button." The music was light and sweet, much like an audio chocolate mousse, and her words seemed to suspend themselves dancing in the air when they left her diminutive frame.
The whole tone of the room lightened as she played, and though her music isn't particularly intelligent, it brought a smile to your face and a song to your lips. She forced a sing-along with popular single "The Show" although the sold-out crowd was happy to oblige, and she made you love her even more by needing to hoist up her strapless dress every five minutes to stop from flashing the audience.
For at least half the audience, though, a quick flash of boobs would simply be the cherry on top of a sweet and delicious headline set.
A lack of instrumentation outside of basic acoustic chords meant that her lyrics carried too much weight; a situation exacerbated by lines that didn't quite sit with guitar chords and lyrics that fell off the edge of the lines. The set, then, was somewhat awkward, and though her personable banter was endearing there wasn't enough substance in the music to allow for it. It was a shallow set, in dire need of a band, or at the very least, some percussion.
Lenka, on the other hand, was a smouldering ball of lovable talent. My preset anti-pop standpoint was melted as soon as the petite package of personality appeared on stage and I was treacherously close to aging 50 years and using the tired old phrase "cute as a button." The music was light and sweet, much like an audio chocolate mousse, and her words seemed to suspend themselves dancing in the air when they left her diminutive frame.
The whole tone of the room lightened as she played, and though her music isn't particularly intelligent, it brought a smile to your face and a song to your lips. She forced a sing-along with popular single "The Show" although the sold-out crowd was happy to oblige, and she made you love her even more by needing to hoist up her strapless dress every five minutes to stop from flashing the audience.
For at least half the audience, though, a quick flash of boobs would simply be the cherry on top of a sweet and delicious headline set.
