Moriarty’s Rosemary hasn’t half got a voice on her. Sort of witchy, sort of earthy, it combines the feline pop sensibility of Turkish chart poppet Gabriella Cilmi (yes, really) with the spellbinding allure of Billie Holiday.

It’s this mad stylistic collision that sets the tone for an all-too-brief set in Islingon’s celestial Union Chapel. Bathed in warm red light, on a small stage beneath a glowing stained glass window, they veer from finger-clicking jazz noir to twangy blues to totally bizarre cover version (Depeche Mode’s ‘Enjoy The Silence’ complete with xylophone and Tourette’s-ish yelps anyone?) like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Dark and insistent, buoyed on rippling guitars, ‘Cornflower’ is a highlight, as is set closer ‘White Man’s Ballad’, a footstomping bachanalia of breakbeat rythms and deranged maracas.

But that’s only half – no quarter – of the story. The most spectacular thing about Moriarty is you can’t pin them down. One minute lushly cinematic, the next, something from a hayseed hoe-down, they’ll suddenly turn on a sixpence, transforming themselves into an Arctic ice sheet of glacial impassivity.

And who else could have you swooning to a cello sound so mournful it reaches into the darkest part of your soul, then shatter your reverie by whooping like there’s been a mass breakout of Tourette’s?

Okay, the image could do with an overhaul – their duds scream ‘geography teacher’ rather than ‘Beyonce at Wembley Arena’. And whether you like it or not, spectacle sells. But when that’s the only thing you’ve got to worry about, it’s doubtful they’re worrying all that much. Good.

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Commenting On: Dingwalls, London, 4/11/2009 - Moriarty

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