Woke up this morning but didn’t get myself a gun….. my life’s not that exciting. This being Friday though, my baby, the weekend, was smiling at me. And when my baby smiles at me I go to the Troubadour, an oasis of old world charm who makes it just that little bit easier to forget the outside world for a while as one ascends from the Brunswick St Mall into her sweet embrace.

The Smallgoods kick off proceedings tonight and seem immediately at home in the cosy surroundings. Punters are drawn to the floor as this Victorian trio, trimmed tonight from their usual five, delivers beguiling harmonies mixed with subtle bass-drum heavy percussion to evoke Gravenhurst at their most pastoral. Slivers of twee start to fold back off the softly-shadowed walls as’ these meandering ditties cause one to sink further into the Troub’s corner couch like Renton after a hit from Mother Superior. Towards the set’s end this village green preservation society is shot into space via a truly affecting cover of Ashes to Ashes. On the basis of this performance, getting lost Down on the Farm (the title of their last album) sounds like an entirely enticing proposition indeed.

The small interval that follows gives everyone a chance to head to the bar for some Troubadour Shots and Wake-Up Calls and many a cursed word is muttered to the red-tinged stag at the bar as the tobasco stings lips far and wide.

The lady in black then takes centre stage as she and the other three band members amble through the red curtain. Jolie Holland epitomizes the smoky, sultry singer one might find in an abandoned blues joint lost in the Deep South and is an utterly compelling presence with her on-stage swagger and early Ellen Barkin looks. And she has the songs to match…..tales of junkies and lovesick fools wrap themselves over sparse arrangements and subtle guitar lines to combine elements of everything from jazz and blues to traditional folk country. Palmyra off the new album The Living and The Dead, is a standout and moves the room with it’s soft strum and defying lyrics :

Put my lipstick back on,
look myself in the eye,
I’m heading out in the cold hard world,
and I’m getting very good at saying my good-byes.

A solo dancer in the middle of the room busting out interpretive dance moves is the lone exception to a respectfully seated crowd that is unfortunately disturbed during the quieter numbers by some loud talking at the bar.

Jolie and band keep on womanfully though, adding nice personal commentary on tracks such as Remember, which is inspired we are told by the wonderful feelings one gets when someone wants to break someone’s ribs for you. If there is a minor quibble it’s that the tempo of the first set doesn’t change much, getting a little stagnant at times with the similar pacing. This is broken however just prior to the encore break with a moment of sheer surreal hilarity as a young man asks for his record to be signed mid-set and a moment-long stand-off ensues when he doesn’t heed the band’s request to wait til after the show. He finally retreats after being shouted down by the crowd, funny stuff.

Jolie comes out alone after the seconds-long interval and slides in to a Townes Van Zandt cover on the piano. She is then joined by her splendidly polka-dotted drummer for a duet which makes eerie use of a violin that looks like it was made from an old rectangular wood-block stolen from Tom Waits’ junkyard. The fact he and Bob Dylan are fans is no surprise to those present here tonight as she fades away into the final closing tune, constantly trembling hand-held beads adding an otherworldly death rattle to the evening’s performance, but in the best possible way.