Gillian Cosgriff's easy charm lies in the fact she's clearly a polished musical performer with one hell of a set of pipes, but she isn't afraid to throw aside that image and relentlessly poke fun at the twenty-something travails and alcohol-fuelled misdeeds of her inner-city life. Songs chronicling text messages from a spurned boyfriend and peppered with slurred drunk dialling voicemails to friends are beautiful in their frankness, as well as being piss-funny and carrying the weight of truth.
Trades Hall: Front Room to 20 Apr
