There are nights as a musician when you are showered in kudos, when the crowd is desperate for a brief tug of the hem of your trousers, when every note is greeted with ecstasy, every ad-lib greeted uproariously, every song gobbled up voraciously by a mesmerised audience.
This is not one of those nights. Instead Johnny Flynn and his bandmates amble rather sheepishly on-stage to a meagre crowd in Cyprus Avenue, with even the clink of bar-room glasses managing to drown out the faint pre-gig patter of the few who have gathered to check out this nascent talent.
It’s not the sort of atmosphere conducive to a special shared experience, but paradoxically, the somewhat lonely nature of the performance manages to highlight the raw, rustic splendour of Flynn’s visceral, verbose alt-folk. He and his band do this gig without much encouragement, peering out into the darkness – no one dares even enter the expansive pool of light in front of the stage – yet their songs stand proud and strident, even in this unfriendly environment.
A rakish, taciturn hobo figurine, Flynn’s matinee-idol looks (hidden beneath a shock of blond hair) mark him out as intriguing before he sings a note. The songs have an unfussy delivery and rich musicality, with echoes of a more streamlined Decemberists (born of Albion rather than Oregon) and propelled along by a rough-and-tumble foot-stomping rhythm. Flynn’s rich voice, rounded enunciation, and juggling of steel-guitar and mandolin form the centrepiece of the group’s boisterous charms. Flourishes of cello and keys from the Sussex Wit embolden the appeal.
Even if Cyprus Avenue has seen busier nights, there is vitality in the sound, which bristles with a warm, infectious swagger. The rootsy swing of ‘Leftovers’, and the more nimble shanty ‘The Box’, neatly encapsulate the band’s freewheeling energy. Flynn is no slouch in the lyrical department either, mining a vibrant seam of homespun philosophy and vivid imagery. “Pray for the people inside your head/Cos they won’t be there when you’re dead” is one particularly inspired couplet.
Johnny and co. undoubtedly deserved a warmer welcome, but the beguiling, rugged grandeur of their music still managed to impress.