Loney, Dear

The first thing that strikes you about Loney, Dear is the name. By the end of the gig I was no wiser to what this meant, but it didn’t seem to matter. Just as you can’t define the name, similarly you can’t define the music. The best way would be as an Arcade Fire/Guillemots/Nizlopi hybrid, with a Swedish folky twist.

However, the most astonishing thing about this gig was the absolute silence during the opening number. Usually during the quiet numbers of a band, the audience use it as an opportunity to chat to their mates, go to the bar or toilet - rapt attention is not something you see very often, which is credit to the charisma and command that lead singer Emil Svanängen had over the awed audience.

With his piercing blue eyes and red hair he addressed the audience like a priest at his lectern. The blurb on the band’s myspace page describes the music as having a hymn-like quality to it, and there’s definitely a religious fervour to the way the band perform.

Each song would begin with a single instrument and then slowly build, introducing another composite part of the five-piece band, to a momentous crescendo to create a wall of sound which was awe inspiring in the constricted space of the intimate setting of the Water Rats.

Emil and his backing singers by turn whoop and murmur into the microphone, with the lead singer’s reedy voice ranging from piercingly high to low mellifluous notes.

It’s the sort of gig you come out of uplifted and peaceful, with a smile on your face.

Ones to watch without doubt.