Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan – Shepherd’s Bush Empire, London – 10/6/08
3/5
By: Andrew Misuraca
Confession time: I'm not overly familiar with Lanegan's work outside of Screaming Trees or Queens of the Stone Age and it's only recently that I realised Isobel Campbell is ex-Belle and Sebastian, but I'm fairly confident I'll still be able to walk the streets without being branded 'He Who Knows Nothing'. To compensate, I went along with 'One Who Knows Everything'.
So I'm sitting with my seasoned Lan-fan friend. He's been telling me what to expect.
"He'll cling to his mic stand and won't move from the spot but his voice is awesome so it doesn't matter."
He's not wrong. They take the stage and Lanegan homes in on the mic stand, raises his arms to cup the mic and turns his head to the band.
Mark Lanegan, ready to folk.
From the opening chords of 'Seafaring Song' the Empire is drenched in the ash and honey attack of these two unique voices, like the instant sprouting of lilies from a knotted old oak tree. Campbell is charming and understated with her arms by her side, snapping to action when putting bow to cello; Lanegan is sturdy, his presence great despite his stillness. He watches Isobel with pride, an almost fatherly gaze. There's a beautiful chemistry at work. Towards the end of the night when Campbell shyly apologises "I messed that one up, my voice is shit tonight", Lanegan growls "I beg to differ" with a rare smirk, a collectors item of a moment.
It would seem that once a singer hits his 40s the chain is thus: wrinkled brow, graying hair, gravel croon. It's getting harder to imagine Lanegan as the voice behind 'I Nearly Lost You' when soaking in his stony baritone but it makes him that much more powerful. I wonder if he has some sort of voice distillery, setting it to mature in oak barrels between albums. Maybe that's why he rarely talks...
Tonight, the band is nothing short of enchanting. There is no recording equipment known to man that can do Lanegan's voice justice. The records can't stand up to the live show, not unless released in pop-up vinyl with seats and walls and ceilings and people steeped in darkness and depth and a ying-yang soul glowing centre stage. Then, they're not the most exciting band but I did find myself wanting to hike across dusty America in the back of a pick up truck with the two of them and a guitar. And a bottle of whiskey, of course.
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