In light of
this format and the absence of an opening artist, Chastity pitched up for a
pair of sets armed only with a trusty acoustic guitar, a bucketful of songs and
a voice anchored in the cradle of Midwest Americana. This is where the melting
pot of country, blues, folk and soul bubbles away, quite frankly unaware of any
genre classifications from outsiders .
Perhaps, it
is the vocals of Chastity Brown that cast her adrift from the ruck of artists pitched
to UK audiences as the next piece of Americana pie. This a voice protracting a
cause and finding solace in the peace that music can provide. The gravelly inner
feelings of her vocal chords transmit to a live audience with sumptuous ease
and this experience enhances ten-fold when the atmosphere slips gently in a
statuesque state of intimacy free of many filters.
Issues of
ethnicity and sexuality hit the room early on, although put into perspective
when compared to immediate threat of displacement and afflicted by declining
health. Signature tracks ‘Colorado’
and ‘Drive Slow’ opened the set
leaving minor wriggle room later for the likes of ‘Wake Up’ and a lauded attempt to extract ‘When We Get There’ from the barrels of her mind to fulfil a
request.
On the new
song front, a track believed to be titled ‘Wonderment’
had an introduction, this on a day where the new single ‘Mad Love’ was unveiled to folks, which may or may not have featured
on the evening as frequently Chastity slipped into the zone of just falling
into the next song after irreverent chat.
The second
half took a more relaxed turn as Chastity felt the available chair was
appropriate to raise the stakes of placidity. Momentarily, the notion of what happens
on stage stays on stage prevailed as the cool Kitchen Garden vibes submerged a performer
becoming increasingly at ease in an environment that was not quite expected at
the outset.
The finale
saw any remnants of electrification ditched, a phase that could have happened
earlier. By now, the zone was perfectly transfixed and if on the off chance
there were any Chastity Brown doubters present, their number would evaporate. This
was an openhearted performance of the highest degree, rampant with an equal
measure of confession and gratitude.
Whether you
call it folk, soul, blues, singer-songwriter or whatever, this was just one woman
from the Midwest, thousands of miles from home emptying her soul to a room full
of strangers. No one will likely have an idea where Chastity Brown places her visit
to the Kitchen Garden in the annals of a career, but this evening created an impressionable mark on those present.