. "I like his hair", says the Boho Chick about Only Son, the support act, only one track into his set. For me, Only Son epitomises what is occasionally wrong with the New York singer song writing scene - all hairstyle and posturing, no actual content.
His voice is also a sticking point. Don't get me wrong, there are several bands I like who stretch their vocal chords enough to hit those difficult to reach falsetto tones. Even bands who don't quite manage the ball crushing pitch live, such as Mercury Rev and Flaming Lips, put on a show to distract you from the occasional caterwauling.
On his own with only a mini disc player on backing, Only Son is lonely. Plus, when he strains he tends to go a bit nasal and sound like Kermit the Frog's nephew Robin..
. All is thrown starkly into contrast when Regina Spektor (pronounced 'Reg-ee-na' - sounds ruder pronounced the traditional English way and it would be just wrong to associate 'Regeena' with a vagina), shyly pads onto the stage. Meekly taking the mike from its stand, she taps out a heart beat and launches into 'Ain't No Cover'.
The crowd is mesmerised, even the bar staff at the back take mimed orders. When the diminutive devotchka takes her place behind a full sized grand piano (another reason why Only Son was going it alone), everyone is focused on Spektor's disembodied head. The difference is startlingly obvious.
From the piano stool, Regina reigns over the crowd, despite being dwarfed by her massive instrument. Part of Regina's command comes from her massive voice which oscillates wildly through the musical scales. There's also a lot to be said for the piano playing - whereas every ounce of teen angst has been strummed out of a guitar, there are few piano players that have plucked heart strings or indeed rocked out.
New tracks stripped of studio polish and a lush string finish sound even better live and old self percussion cabaret act 'Poor Little Rich Boy' is still a delight to see - simultaneously playing piano and bashing a barstool with a drum stick, if Regina had pulled a bowler hat out at this point she'd have cleaned up! UK bod's perhaps wouldn't realise that Regina is not a new phenomena. This may be her second UK release and tour but it's on the back of years of finely honed performances in un-smoke filled bars across New York.
Regina has plonked out her own niche which on the (nearly) male side encompasses Anthony And The Johnsons and Rufus Wainwright. Like these artists, it's been a case of winning audience over and it's been a slow and steady rise on her own terms. Later, a band joins Regina and adds a lift to the second bar of songs such as '10 Years Of Snow'.
Later still, she moves to guitar herself and suddenly there's an explanation for all the Lily Allen clones around us. Regina is a kooky star who sings pop songs about regular, like, life that smart and inevitably alienated teenagers understand. 'That Time' with lyrics: "Remember that time when I would only read the back of serial boxes?
" and "Remember that time when I only ate boxes of tangerines (so cheap and juicy!)?" and finally "Remember that time you OD'd?
" qualify this - with her tongue (of course) placed firmly in her high cheekbones. Regina finishes with 'Sampson', one of the new album's most tender moments, alone on the piano before walking to the front of the stage to deliver a Country and Western song entitled 'Love (You're a Whore)'. Keeping the chanteuse stance she launches directly into (surely) future single 'Hotel Song'.
The parting duo of songs make an eloquent point; it would be easy to pigeon hole Regina as the eccentric girl with a piano she's mastered - but her real strength is in writing quality credible pop music. Just because she isn't pissed up at awards ceremonies, she shouldn't be marginalised as a singer-songwriter from New York. Okay, this tour more thought has been put into Regina's presentation and "hair" but it's Regina's uniqueness that keeps us interested.
Save yourself ???
on Xmas gifts.
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