Posts Tagged ‘ timothy carroll ’

Timothy Carroll @ The Troubadour

Date: July 19, 2009
Venue: The Troubadour, Brisbane
Artists: Timothy Carroll, McKisko, Kate Jacobsen

About three songs into a typically inveigling set of back-porch country tunes, a perfect cocktail of illness, alcohol and painkillers prompts Kate Jacobsen to artlessly observe that her strum patterns all seem to be the same.

There’s an underlying hint of truth, yet it matters not a whit as an appreciative audience laps up Cane Farmer’s Song, Kiss Me Gently, Don’t Believe In Jesus and couple of new tunes as well. Some things are greater than the sum of their individual parts — and Jacobsen’s plain-speaking fretwork, achingly sweet voice and poignant lyrics illustrate that in spades.

Folk-minimalist McKisko (aka Helen Franzmann) performs only eight songs. But what breathtaking advertisements for her talent.

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Live Spark @ Brisbane Powerhouse

Date: May 24, 2009
Venue: Brisbane Powerhouse
Acts: Jacob S Harris, Timothy Carroll

I’ve seen local troubadour Timothy Carroll several times now, and on each occasion he’s impressed me more and more with poignant melodies marked by gentle, lingering acoustic guitar and a world-weary yet, somehow, simultaneously reassuring voice. Today proves a kind of watershed moment. The relaxing Sunday-afternoon vibe of the Brisbane Powerhouse amplifies Carroll’s burgeoning songcraft tenfold and more, flipping some internal switch that transforms me from interested observer into raving aficionado.

Along the way I also begin to realise what a stellar list of fellow musicians he’s assembled to help him out. Kate Jacobsen and Corinna Scanlon each step up to duet on Something Else and Sad Man respectively.  Doch’s Rebecca Craner cameos several times with warbling gypsy clarinet. It’s wonderful.

I hadn’t realised Jacob S Harris had recently shifted south to try and get more exposure to his alt-country sound, and a sharp set proves that our loss  is definitely to Melbourne’s gain. In itself, there’s something riveting in simply watching his long, expressive fingers flicker back and forth across the strings of his guitar and, later, mandolin. His deep haunting tones, playing off that wonderful fingerwork on the guitar, and hitched to the  mournful background drone of Jane Elliott’s cello makes closing tune Mountains Of Clover ineffably sad.