Agnes Obel at Vicar Street, 23rd of October 2013

Having paid a visit to The Sugar Club in 2011 following the release of her début ‘Philharmonics’, Danish singer-songwriter Agnes Obel is back in the city fresh from the release of her new album ‘Aventine’ in September. It’s the turn of Vicar Street to play host to tonight’s performance; a different postcode, a bigger room, but another all-seated affair for a wonderfully warm and intimate show.

Feral and Stray is the moniker of Canadian musician Erin Lang, first to take the stage in front of a house practically full already. It’s only the ground floor of Vicar Street that’s in action tonight, but the black drapes that close off the balcony only add to the atmosphere when the music begins. An instant hush descends along with the darkness as Lang steps up to the mic, Fender in hand, for Carried Away. Her wispy, whispered vocal is throughout augmented by guitar notes that swell and quell, and the guitar effects give the feeling of a gentle wind or a distant violin. She switches to bass for Warrior, instantly more powerful than the previous songs as the deep bass tones offset the high vocal. This set of personal songs is permeated by subtle drones of differing hues, pulled from pedal, string and autoharp, and it’s certainly an impressive performance even if at times it slides into a samey malaise.

A black piano stands to one side with a cello and a violin lined beside it, and Agnes Obel, Anne Müller and Mika Posen appear on the dimly lit stage to occupy their respective instruments. Müller plucks out a simple motif as the trio slips into Philharmonics. As Beast follows it becomes apparent that – Obel’s vocal aside – there is no clear lead instrument as such; each musician weaves in and around the next, and one or two variously hang back to allow the third to come to the fore in an ever-rotating, seamless succession.

Their triple harmonies are equally as involving, raising On Powdered Ground as Müller’s strings march it forward. The intricate interplay between the three musicians takes various dramatic slants, but the mood is certainly lightened by Obel’s request for a woollen scarf from the audience. Assured they will receive it back, she then drapes the scarf over the inner strings of her piano – “it’s a different material than I’m used to so this will be a special version tonight” – and a percussive background throb underpins Aventine.

As Obel shuffles in her seat to get comfortable, causing a hesitant gap at a song’s intro, we get another glimpse of the band’s interaction – there’s no sheet music here; just glances, intuition and anticipation. A darkly atmospheric Riverside follows – “for all the Dublinists” – before things take a more playful turn on Run Cried The Crawling. Müller provides a cello pulse until the three take it acapella near the song’s coda. Befitting Words Are Dead, she tells us that when she has played Dublin before there have been hecklers…but not tonight. An audience chorus of “awww” accompanies the finality of The Curse, whose plucked instrumentals take on the effect of a ticking clock winding the set down; the three musicians bow out, earning a standing ovation for a fine collaborative effort.

“I want the scarf back” comes the heckle Obel lamented, as she informs us she’s “gonna play a song about a good time being alone.” An immediate raucous roar of a comedic “whooooo” from a suddenly enlivened crowd greets the unintended double entendre, and the giddiness infects Obel – so much so that she makes it one line into the first song of the encore only to abandon it in a fit of giggles. She takes suggestions from the crowd, settling on her version of Katie Cruel. The shenanigans leave time for a one song encore, but it’s one that sends all involved off with a smile on their face. Did the scarf make it back to its rightful owner? We don’t know, but it would be a small sacrifice for a night of such sublime musicianship.