LIVE REVIEW: Jo Quail @ The Bodega, Nottingham

There is a moment during seventh song Rex when JO QUAIL stops playing and just stands in the centre of the stage, eyes closed, the symphony she has built twisting and turning through the speakers and around the venue. It is a statement of both vulnerability and strength – she is immersed in the present and connecting with her music in the same way her audience is, but also standing tall as the master and creator of it all; a figure of regality and authority.

It is further testament to her appeal that she transcends social boundaries – The Bodega is a near sell-out and it’s a cosmopolitan makeup, with all ages, clothing styles and professions standing shoulder to shoulders; there’s as many loud, colourful shirts in the room as there are battle jackets. Jo herself is resplendent in a black dress, elegant yet not overstated and makes her customary, unassuming entrance whereby cheers only emanate from her fans as the lights dim and she is in the main spotlight. Despite her best efforts to secure one on each date, there is no support act tonight, which actually gives the show much more of an ‘Evening With…’ vibe, immediately increasing the intimacy despite the small confines of the room itself and, as Jo says, allows her a more “leisurely” paced set.

There’s nothing leisurely about opening track White Salt Stag however – as Jo begins to weave her magic, the place falls silent, encapsulated and appreciative of her craft. It’s building nicely, but when Jo works it so that certain elements begin ringing out from just one set of speakers, the song receives a whole new dimension, becoming tribal and hypnotic in nature. Jo says she wants to start with a piece that everyone knew before she begins material from brand new album Notan (at this point just five days old), but the new songs have just as much presence: Butterfly Dance is made even more immersive by the dry ice filling the venue and providing a stunning atmosphere, while Embrace is delicate and beautiful; although not a direct dedication, Jo mentions the late Tomas Lindberg during her intro as she discusses the song’s theme of connection between all beings, living or dead. It’s a nice touch, and one that certainly resonates with those who prefer music on the heavier end of the spectrum.

Two songs follow on Jo‘s acoustic cello (“He’s called Ferdinand, born 1820, doesn’t go out to gigs much” she quips), namely A Leaf, and Then a Key and Supplication, where the instrument is the star; there’s a real melancholic power about the sound of a single cello. Its violin cousin may hog the strings spotlight, but it’s more than capable of producing breathtaking moments all on its own. Jo shifts back to her electric cello for the final third – Elia’s Song is tender and soft, a lullaby composed for her daughter, while KingFisher is a journey, eleven minutes in length and never once losing intensity or interest…and then, after Jo has mentioned the trouble she’s had performing it live, it abruptly stops. “I ended it when I mean to kick it back in” she admits sheepishly to a room of laughter, but she picks up where she belongs and finished strongly.

An intended encore of Adderstone doesn’t come about when her effects pedal doesn’t have the song programmed in (something she’s rather bothered by), but as an alternative she dusts off Mandrel Cantus from 2018’s Exsolve record and, while she hasn’t played it in forever, it sounds magnificent and ends the night brilliantly. This never felt like a gig, but more a private recital in front of a couple hundred friends. Whether you’ve seen JO QUAIL before or not, you leave with the same feeling as everyone else in the room, one utterly spellbound by the talents of this extraordinary woman.

Rating: 9/10

Check out our photo gallery of the night’s action in Nottingham from Sabrina Ramdoyal Photography here: 

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