Eileen Rose and the Holy Wreck at The Borderline

Eileen Rose and the Holy Wreck at The Borderline

30 September, 2008
by: Jayrock

The last time I was at the Borderline was literally years ago. Although related memories are a touch blurry, I seem to recall 'dancing' around like a helicopter (to, strangely enough, Bloc Party's 'Helicopter') convinced I was some kind of indie princess (prindiecess?), surrounded by sweaty 20-somethings who were clearly similarly deluded about their own hipness. It was dark, dingy and rammed. Hence I felt a little apprehensive going there to see a singer/songwriter type person that I had never heard of.

I'm surprised - it's actually not a bad place for a gig if you're down with the whole windowless underground vibe. And it's one of Alan McGee's cribs, which always increases your expectation of talent. The crowd, however, do not instill any sense of excitement in me. It mainly consists of corpulent, balding, bespectacled old men. No seriously, I counted nine in the front row. Uh oh.

First up is Paula Wolfe, a folky sort who is accompanied by a cellist and some kind of keyboardist/back up singer/Jackie-of-all-trades. The three of them look like they've just popped out from a knitting bee - all smiles, bottled water and cleancut-ness. Wolfe herself, a sawn-off Carole Caplin lookalike, seems so annoyingly nice I know immediately it would be hard to slate her in print. But the music is pretty atrocious. With a cloyingly sweet voice and mumsy songs about gated communities and the fallout from (another) failed relationship, it's all incredibly banal and simultaneously painful. For want of a better word – ew.

Eileen Rose, a Irish-Italian-American bird with an air of PJ Harvey and a nice red dress, is accompanied by her sometimes-band the Holy Wreck. I know nothing about her or them and it soon becomes clear why. The throng is definitely enthusiastic but it simply isn't my thing. Performing what I can only describe as 'country rock' (wretch), predominantly from her latest album 'At Our Tables', Rose is an accomplished show-woman and has a gutsy and penetrating voice but the husky power ballads leave me completely unenthused and simply conjure up images of Melissa Etheridge - a cruel punishment however you look at it.

On the plus side, the band seem to have a great rapport, evident from both their teasing banter in the interludes and the tight, intuitive way they whack out their rocky country fare. They're all good musicians too - the highlight of the evening for me is definitely the rather awesome pedal steel guitarist, Rich Gilbert, who has come 'all the way from Nashville' and sounds delightfully like he was still there. In the most diplomatic terms, the gig feels very long and colourless to me, the self-proclaimed Prindiecess, but fans of the genre would undoubtedly have a whale of a time. Good for them.

Click here for London Live Music
Click here for things to do in Soho

Jayrock