Speak of strange things like cats who can talk and the whole world will view you with suspicion but through the looking glass of life we glance anyway in case sense should be found there.
With an array of electric toys and the stripped out shell of a cello as her weapon of choice, Shannon Hayden’s songs exemplified both the sonic decoration of ambient melodrama and the clarity of focus that can only come with classical training. Complexity, in consequence, held no fear for her and as she surged through the shadows of conventionality in search of truth and beauty, the urge to join her on her journey became overwhelming.
Celine Brooks, providing something of a counterpoint, seemed the very model of conventionality with her acoustic guitar and unassuming manner almost placing her at right angles to the audience. However, she lacked nothing in charm and endearing vocal affectations and so was able to entice more than a few into her musical trap.
Lily and Madeleine, ably assisted by Shannon Hayden, soon demonstrated that sibling harmonies are more than enough of a reason to guarantee ascension to the stage of the musical pantheon and, as if blessed by those whose residence is celestial, they mixed vocal purity with darker lyrical motivations in a manner that made their songs worthy of being the soundtrack to a dream. If Wordsworth had been there tonight, his poetic judgement would surely have been: “For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or pensive mood, my ears belong to Lily and Madeleine.”
The black and white cat said not a lot but it was obvious from its demeanour that it knew the world was not nearly as flat as Friedman suggested. Either that or it just wanted some of my fried chicken.