ANNA CALVI

If you were to adapt the pop music of the last twenty years for the silver screen as a Western, we already know exactly how ANNA CALVI would be portrayed. A few shady characters are staring each other down in a Charles Bronson-style Mexican standoff, the whole village hidden behind single-glazed windows, tumbleweeds rolling by, and the only sound you hear is that of a sinister wind. Until suddenly a bad girl, clad in black – right down to a dust cloth that half-conceals her face – walks into the street, accompanied by the jingling sound of the spurs on her cowgirl boots. Mouths drop open, even the wind holds its breath, all the curtains close in unison. The bandits then walk away whistling but nervously, for they are no match for this. It is the same effect Calvi has on a packed concert hall, or a festival square, when she walks onto the stage and plugs in her guitar. Only, no one will walk away, because through word of mouth or previous concerts you know:  as soon as the first guitar chord fills the air and Calvi opens her throat, it’s as if she’s pulling open a hatch and thousands of kilos of magic are pouring down. This has certainly done her no harm; Calvi’s albums are usually in the running for the (highly prestigious) Mercury Prize in her home country, the United Kingdom, and the makers of Peaky Blinders had enough confidence to entrust her with the soundtrack for season 5. Live, Calvi now plays in the Superleague, where she combines the presence of Nick Cave, Johnny Cash and Siouxsie Sioux with sharp indie rock that cuts straight to the bone, featuring vicious bursts of noise and menacing waves of emotion. Anna Calvi’s concerts often begin as rock performances, but sometimes end as a collective healing, even if it is mainly countless demons that are exorcised. Black and white, then, yin and yang, hard and soft, whisper and primal scream, sweet and menacing, Anna and Calvi, Grote and Kaai.  Come and experience it for yourself on Friday 7 August.