Live Review: Laura Barlow - Northcote Social Club

After a vibrant, multi-instrumental set by Laura Macfarlane, well known around town for her involvement in bands including Ninetynine and Lee Memorial, Lou Barlow modestly perches himself upon a stool armed with a mere pair of acoustic instruments. One, a baritone ukulele, dominates the early portion of the set with Barlow performing tunes such as Temporary Dream, Jealous Of Jesus and I Believe In Fate – all off Sebadoh's Weed Forestin'. From the outset, Barlow fills gaps in between songs with comedic banter – an open dialogue with the audience. The result of this is a highly informal (if somewhat unprofessional) and intimate feel throughout the night. For most artists this would not suffice, but for Barlow it seems to come naturally and is highly endearing.

Playing material from his two solo records, Emoh and Goodnight Unknown, Barlow admits: “I don't usually get this nervous, can I have a whiskey?” Transferring to a nylon-string guitar, he performs solo numbers Mary and I'm Thinking shakily, yet beautifully. Such honesty baits the crowd, eliminating the division of performer and audience, stage and floor. Indeed, he reminds the crowd in hilarious, deadpan manner: “I'm on a stool. On a riser. On a stage.” He goes on to admit that he is “not wearing any underpants”, wants to scratch Kim Kardashian behind the ear because she looks like a cat, points out his in-attendance stalker and happily says the upcoming Sebadoh and Dinosaur Jr recordings are “going well”. The laughs are in abundance; the lo-fi star is getting gradually inebriated; his rich voice is melting into a lovely liquor tone.

In an attempt to avoid repeating the prior night's set, Barlow shirks a bombardment of requests yet capriciously grants others. It becomes a collaborative effort of deduction between man and fan. Someone upfront insists on Back To Your Heart, a Dinosaur Jr song with a great rhythm, which he manages to replicate acoustically. Likewise, his performance of On Fire upon request honours its original in a refreshingly unplugged style. His self-deprecating demeanour sustains the crowd over the two-hour show, although at times the music wanes with the odd, albeit amusing, missed note/chord here and there. He admits to being “at risk of playing an annoyingly long set”, but the crowd demands more. Thus, he concludes the show – which could have been billed concurrently on the Comedy Festival – strongly with the tender and sweet Ballad Of Daykitty.