Live Review: Sharon Van Etten, Jack Ladder, Tiny Ruins, Heather Woods Broderick

Sharon Van Etten gave the first support slot to her equally talented backing band artist, Heather Woods Broderick on Sunday, kicking off a relaxed evening at Factory Theatre.

Each performer created a vastly different mood to complement their folk-rock tunes, the only other substantial link being the minimal, nervous banter employed by all four artists; tonight’s about the music.

Tiny Ruins came out to a three-quarters-full crowd and crafted a rolling, atmospheric set of moody folk-pop, purpose-built for a crowd of patient listeners. Complex lyrics and themes melded with rich, simple, reverb-soaked tunes that rolled over the crowd.

Jack Ladder was an enchanting subject. Following closely behind him on stage was instant credibility: a wise old fedora-wearing man who sits and plays immaculate pedal steel. He doesn’t address the crowd and yet you feel a sense of connection. Jack Ladder played off as the perfect pupil; the Daniel to his Mr Miyagi, him too employing the moody, well worn facial expressions that the two must surely have worked on out the back, after Ladder had painted the fence, sanded the decks and waxed the car, of course. They played really good music as well –  believe it or not. Ladder’s smooth, baritone voice was the highlight of his change-of-pace acoustic set, having recently released a dancy, synth-driven record.

Sharon Van Etten created a ‘gathering between friends’ atmosphere, using her small banter quota to tell the crowd that she loved us calling her “Shazza” and that she only gets that in the UK and Australia. Her five-piece band was sharp and on point, dishing out (almost too) faithful renditions of tracks from Are We There with a few promising unrecorded tunes and older gems thrown in for good measure. Van Etten’s luscious harmonies and cutting, clean guitar work joined marching band drums on the fantastic Your Love Is Killing Me to become the highlight of the night. The gang was charming enough to warrant chants of “Shazza” during that weird encore routine that we, the sentimental, all-powerful rulers of the animal kingdom have been doing too long to remember what the fucking point is anymore.