Live Review: Olympia, Sarah Belkner

In a market of too many plastic soul singers and TV talent quest production line alt-Deltas, we need artists like Olympia. In the live context the contradictions that are part of what make her interesting are broadly displayed. It's the arty showbiz of a shiny jumpsuit, a voice that's one moment near-ethereal, then near-yodel. The handily-matching-the-outfit guitar is strummed, then battered. Then she stops, with a nervous laugh like she committed some offence — or maybe just remembered she borrowed said instrument from Paul Dempsey.

Sarah Belkner has a lot going on too. Possibly just a bit fuzzily focused as she's only just off the plane from touring Europe with Sarah Blasko. She harnesses the technology to build loops for songs with some Kate Bush swoop in the vocals (complete with related interpretative dancing...) and a strong left hand on the keyboard to give songs a rich, dark roll.

If Belkner is buzzily jetlagged, Olympia and band are vibing on a nervous energy as she gets used to her debut album being greeted with praise and delight. She's still getting stage patter together. The (maybe) apocryphal story that kinda illustrates Self Talk's title song: a man, a lawn chair, a BB gun, and some weather balloons — you know the one — gets lost in the telling. She gives up and just plays the song.

Belkner is invited back to add a second texture of vocals for Blue Light Disco, the title belying the song's resigned sadness at a refugee boat so close to a 'friendly' shore that's so out of reach. It even hushes most of the chatterers in the crowd. Then there's the final big sweeping pop of Smoke Signals, and they're gone. There is no encore. She's pretty much said all she needed to.