'Sorry...Is there a gig on here tonight?’

‘Yes there is...sir.’

‘Marina and the Diamonds?’

‘Absolutely...sir.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Of course sir, just this way.’

‘Ermm...okay.’


And so the well-coiffured man in the tailored suit gently-but-firmly ushers this scruffy ruffian in a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt through to the elegant bar of the Sandringham Hotel.  The address had just been given as 50 Berners Street and, never having heard of it, the natural assumption was made that the venue was going to be a grubby little
bolthole of the indie order, in the manner of a 100 Club or a 229. Instead we are greeted by a swish white bar with real looking art on the walls, healthy looking businessman and groups of expensively dolled-up tarts that may or may not be escorts.


The music, it turns out, is going to ‘happen’ in the courtyard adjacent to the bar.  Great, I think glancing through the glass doors at the tables adorned with brightly coloured drinks, I’ll just nab one of those comfy looking seats and make this £6 beer feel ultra special by drinking it
very slowly out there.


‘Er...no sir,’ says blond with clipboard, ‘the courtyard is only for people on the list.’

‘But I am on the list.’ I thought I was.

‘Hmm...’she pretends to scans the list whilst really looking at my dirty
Converse.  I spot Peaches Geldof name on there, ‘...nope.  I’m afraid not sir.’

‘So how do I watch the gig?’

‘When the music starts, we will allow you to stand round the side of the tables.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’


Soon after, as it becomes clear that support act and Neon Gold label-mate Wolf Gang are going to be playing some time in the near future us listless paupers are given the nod to shuffle in, with about 150 people crushed into a space for 50.  Snug.  The gig doesn’t start and I distract myself from discomfort by looking more often than necessary at a simply stunning Latin-y girl mingling in the crowd. 

    
It turns out it is only the lead singer of Wolf Gang playing their acoustic set today, which is all nice enough.  He’s got a Mika-esque air about him, though the songs sound like The Kooks which is nicely ironic as half the blokes in here look like better-fed versions of the Brighton boys.  Overall not bad but definitely not great; this was going to have to be a pretty special performance from Miss Marina.


Thankfully, she is a performer of real idiosyncratic quality-starting her set by telling the gathered throng (half of whom seemed to know her and giggle knowingly at her every joke) that ‘everything’s gone wrong and that [she’s] shitting herself about singing acoustic’ may seem like a recipe for confidence sapping disaster.  But no, her lovely voice balms frayed emotions as she kicks off with ‘Obsessions’, a sad tale of a decaying relationship.  Though, thanks to this overcrowding of which Ryan Air would be mightily jealous, it’s impossible to catch a glimpse of her an exceptionally strong vocal performance stands out above all.  At times drifting and soft, others hard, forceful, verging on the operatic , she blends (lazy comparison alert) Kate Bush kookiness , and ballsy Gwen Stefani (who’s ‘What You Waiting For?’ she covers)  effrontery.


It is during ‘Mowgli’s Road’, where her cuckoo’ing demands confirmation that she doesn’t actually have a bird up there, that I tussle my way a bit closer to the front.  Standing on tippy tippy toes,
a rather pleasant realisation dawns- that Marina is the simply stunning Latin-y girl from earlier.  Pleasantly befuddled and chuffed at my taste in women, the rest of the gig glides past in whirl of head-swaying and ocular delight as I ponder whether it's a dreadful cliche to fall in love at first sight.   ‘Seventeen’ is gorgeous, while the already mentioned
Gwen Stefani cover is a real crowd pleaser and has  all her pals singing along (including one floppy haired fellow who looks close to tears, such is his joy). 

Her music, un-like any other of the flurry of laydeez swarming the charts at the moment, also contains an innate child-like quality;  there’s no La Roux electro posturing or Florence style gothic
Victoriana which makes her a lot harder to pigeonhole; style-wise she’s
probably closest to Lily Allen if anyone, just a lot more varied, fun and,
well, better.

Closer ‘I Am Not A Robot’ is rapturously received, especially the line ‘I’m vulnerable/ You’re loveable’, which tweaks the ‘ticker strings of every person in there.  Really though, it’s all good and she will undoubtedly steal a few thousand more hearts once her album is
released in October.

Posted In Live Reviews, Jul 28 2009. Words - David