Brooke Combe conquers London despite (almost) losing her voice
Last night was one of those rare winter nights.
The kind that’s so cold, the warmth of travel feels like an adventure. And it was.
Our journey took us to Dingwalls, a cosy little venue tucked below Camden Market. A venue that’s seen the last of Brooke Combe, I’m sure.
She’s got bigger, bolder grounds to rattle.
Then with the startle of a strobe light and the ring of the familiar chords of A-Game, Brooke drives into a performance that makes the studio version seem meek; something I thought would be impossible.
Her stage presence is truly unique. She’s one of the only support acts that has left a permanent impression from when I caught her warming up for Miles Kane at the Roundhouse. This time, as a headliner, it came out even stronger.
The manufactured front is a fierce, confrontational, almost dismissive facade. When she stops to talk, however, she displays a softer, more vulnerable side. A threatening warmth, something only shared with a large-scale blaze.
Even after apologising for nearly having to cancel the show for a lost voice, I noticed no difference. Like a Porsche with a spec of dust on it in the showroom.
You can hear the air in her voice. A high-pitched whisper that dances on top of the almighty booms and lullabies you into a trance.
The crowd felt the same. Despite some bouncing, they were more fixated. Mesmerised by the sheer talent of an upcoming star.
We were treated to new and even ‘we’re still deciding if it’s good or not’ material. It was great. Leave Me The Fuck Alone received one of the best receptions.
The lighting was great too. For a small venue, the breaks were made more dramatic by the perfectly timed strobe lighting. It was like being in a comic book fight and you could read the ‘thwacks’ of the drums.
Honestly, it felt like you were witnessing something. You weren’t just at another small venue midweek gig. It was a moment in time that seeded something much greater.