Mon 13 Dec 2010
Words: Owen Jones
As I cough and croak my way into Cardiff, convinced that I’m on the brink of bubonic plague, the capital’s wintry air seems like a significantly less than adequate replacement for my bed. But as I shuffle into St David’s Hall, my ailments are swiftly forgotten. Greeted by a spectacularly Christmassy stage setting with stars upon high and Christmas trees galore, my splutters are immediately swapped for smiles. Kate tiptoes into the spotlight, all beaming cheeriness and charming beauty, and sweeps into an exquisitely heart-melting rendition of Joy To The World. Accompanied by a new lineup, Rusby’s velvet voice naturally breathes with the magic of Yuletide and seems like the best medicine of all.
The show comes as an early Christmas treat, with Kate and co. offering a sprinkling of newer tracks from her latest (and first entirely self-penned) album Make The Light in and amongst plenty from her Sweet Bells longplayer. We’re also gifted further goodies in the shape of guitarist and husband O’Kane’s stunningly hypnotic Summer Hill and two of melodeon man Julian Sutton’s rousing instrumental contributions.
Set highlight, the spirited optimism of Walk The Road, sees the brass quintet of the Grimethorpe Colliery Band add a stirring grace to proceedings as they continue to do all night, while Sweet Bells is just lovely. The incandescent purity of Rusby’s voice shines through yet again on the achingly alluring Only Hope, and I find myself crossing my fingers in the vain hope that the show won’t ever end.
Her between-song banter is as endearingly charming as ever, with her delightfully warm chit-chat making it feel more like we’re sat in the living room with our new best friend than in a concert hall with the defining voice of English folk music. Her gracious smiles are as infectious as the melodies she conjures, and it’s impossible not to leave St. David’s Hall utterly smitten with such an exceptionally talented and down-to-earth performer.
My only complaint is that the show did end, despite my best finger-crossing efforts, but I’m left wishing that the soundtrack to every winter evening could be this ruddy beautiful.