Wednesday saw The Front generously hosting an eclectic group of talent. Local art musician JW Sparrow offered us a series of fascinating compositions in a surprisingly complex set. Guy Blackman from Melbourne went solo for his take on life and love with as much seriousness as twee-folk can muster. SubPop alumnus Tiny Vipers made her Canberra debut as part of her Australian tour to promote her new album, and the small crowd welcomed her warmly.

JW Sparrow is a local avant-garde/shoegaze/drone artist that constructs psychedelic soundscapes that sit somewhere in the murky ether between Mono, Jesus and Mary Chain and maybe Pan American (turned up to 11). The synth chords that hovered like hungry beggars over a formless beat (care of an attached iPod) were hard to enjoy. Their lack of texture and unappealing volume coupled with little momentum and zero context made it difficult to engage with. Sparrow’s guitar work however was inspired, carefully layering small chord progressions over each other until they threatened to collapse. Simple vocal passages over the top focused the music, creating a shimmering wall of sound. It was a relatively brief set of a small number of lengthy songs/compositions/art works; sometimes wonderful, never tedious.

Guy Blackman’s music was odd, it has to be said. An unassuming specimen that, if one were to grossly generalise, looked like he belonged behind the mixing desk rather than front of house. Blackman delivered compact, poignant tunes that, despite their sunny chord structures and his uncomplicated vocal work, sat like isolated rainclouds in a late afternoon sky. “Your voice is beautiful to me/You’re taking lessons you don’t need/Please don’t learn to sing in key” he gently pleaded, enjoying his subject’s delightful imperfections. His songs were populated by lovers and the loveless in equal number, and thankfully Blackman treated them all with respect, never dulling them down or covering them with treacle. A very honest musician, his presence was most welcome.

Tiny Vipers, aka Jesy Fortano, hails from Seattle, USA. Perhaps the omnipresent rain there has something to do with her sombre brand of folk. Her serene, measured approach was beguiling and her elegant, southern gothic music resonated powerfully. While Fortano seemed confident enough engaging the small group that came to watch and mingling with the artists she shared the light with, her guitar was soft almost to the point of self consciousness and her slightly odd (yet gorgeous) voice offered words that folded in on themselves, like they were desperate to hide as soon as they left her lips. This wasn’t reflective of her personality, rather it was simply an aesthetic quality to her work that made it so arresting. Opening song Eyes Like Ours and later with the epic ten minute title track to her second album Life on Earth (her entire set consisted of songs from this record) were beautiful examples of this. The latter was simple stunning, summoning images of winter dawn in cold sunlight. When Fortano allowed her voice to find and sustain higher notes it was warm and cathartic, like in the nostalgic Development.

There are a number of interesting aspects to Jesy Fortano’s work. Lyrically, she remains opaque, vaguely restless and haunted, exploring the past and future, old friends and indecipherable personal musings. Musically she constructs sparse, fragile arrangements spun from gossamer silk that sound like they were written by ghosts. It’s a haunting experience to listen to her work, and to see Tiny Vipers in the flesh had the hair on my neck standing up. She is only a lithe young thing, and a larger venue would’ve swallowed her whole. The intimate stage in the Front was perfect. The irony is that Fortano’s strength was her ability to wield a sense of space like a second instrument. The weight of the silence between each crystal clear note was just as tangible as the music, and also just as imperative. This constant juxtaposition was intensely affecting, and to be in such an intimate setting was a wonderful experience.