For the official Melbourne launch of her debut album You Go Your Way, I’ll Go Mine, Ainslie Wills provided a night of underexposed artists with an abundance of talent, as the support acts themselves told us.
Producer come performer Spender began his set explaining how he and the headliner have publicly “complemented the hell out of each other” since first meeting. While singer-songwriter Oscar Lush explains that making the relatively expensive trip down from Sydney was worth the privilege of opening the night.
With his creative hair (a brown thatched nest attempting to escape the side of his head) and skin-tight, stovepipe jeans, you’d struggle to pick Lush from a lineup of the hipster brigade. That is, until he opens his mouth and out tumbles his brimstone baritone.
His gothic lyricism and deep tones recall Johnny Cash, so too his rustic folk, strumming rich, open chords from alternate tunings, complete with Dylan-worthy lashes of harmonica. While the spritely finger-picking of ‘Once I Was A Child’ recalls another Dylan acolyte: The Tallest Man On Earth.
He is a solo performer who seems custom built for the cliché: ‘wise beyond his years’. When he sings of “walking through hell” and of feeling that he’s “started a war” on the song of the same name, it’s utterly convincing, despite his spring 19 years of age.
Perhaps his youth explains his painfully shy manner. He shuffles, quietly tunes, and apologises profusely before one “very, very new” number for what he worries will be an audible mess. It isn’t, and in fact you’d easily mistake it for a folk standard as old as the hills.
There isn’t much variety – aside from the slow, romantic “The Hour’s Getting Late” – and his mournful writing is occasionally depressing, but what he does do, he does extraordinarily well.
Arriving shortly after Spender, the catch-all moniker for the tight three-piece fronted by the tall, dapperly suited Tommy Spender.
Toting a full-bodied guitar and a head full of smart ideas, he is the charming face and soulful voice of the unit, backed by the excellent bass-work of Luke Hodgson and drummer Leigh Fisher. Together they present a snappy mix of tunes informed by a range of influences.
There’s a clear and classic appreciation for melody, structure, and irresistible groove on immaculately crafted “Magic Man”, while bold bass upstrokes and a percussive track mark new single ‘Bed & Chair’.
‘Old Fashioned Camera’ affords Spender the chance to jibe with the crowd, building the song’s loping groove with a loop pedal, equally effective to draft a stacked saxophone part on the downtempo shuffle of ‘Never Again’. ‘Hotel Home’ has jazz underpinnings with its gently snaking guitar lines and a heartstring-tugging lyrical metaphor: “my heart is a kite… and one day/I’ll give to you the string.”
Imagine Damon Albarn raised on a diet of Prince and Spoon and you’ll begin to understand what elevates Spender’s songs to the next level is not just the writing, but the execution.
The same can be said for Ainslie Wills, who opens with the captivating mini-chorale of ‘Mary’, instantly arresting attention through lush vocal harmonies and Wills’ terrific voice.
Much like the hypnotic organ and guitar mix of ‘Lemon Japan’ that follows, there is a strong rhythmic undertow to the music that keeps the momentum at a mesmerising pace while allowing focus on Wills’ singing talents (and she’s a great guitarist to boot).
Technically impressive (thanks to her background in jazz studies) but also expressively dynamic, she captures edge to her voice on the brazen, brassy groove of ‘Fighting Kind’, the chanting march of ‘Stop Pulling The String’, and especially the curdled blues of ‘Wide Load’.
Elsewhere, her virbant arrangements give her full reign to exercise some stunning vocal acrobatics, especially on set highlight ‘Ocean’.
Fittingly shaded by blue light, Wills teases “ready to come swimming?” before diving into the performance, which recalls Grizzly Bear in its mercurial shifts and textural harmonies; its coda sailing into a skittering drum groove while a resplendent guitar part transforms into an ascendant, shimmering haze.
‘Something I Prepared Earlier’ is another lush highlight; its restrained Mediterranean pulse recalls Rufus Wainwright as it delicately builds a hazy, olive-scented mood through pillowing melodies and Wills’ soft crooning. Again showing that her voice is the thread that ties the stylistically divergent material together.
An achievement made possible by her ensemble, consisting of bassist Jules Pascoe, drummer Aaron Light, and multi-instrumentalist Natalie Lewis. But it is Lawrence Folvig that is Wills’ secret weapon.
A key-cowriter, Folvig is both a measured, inventive guitarist and a smart foil to Wills’ obvious talents. In the pair’s partnership, he makes the most of his supporting role, allowing her the limelight and to shoulder the crowd interaction.
Wills’ between-song patter is warm and vaguely kooky, at one point bursting into a little sing-song of “I’m in the wrong key”, and later asking “what are people doing for ANZAC Day?”
She’s utterly affable and the audience gives her the utmost appreciation in kind. “So this is the bad relationship song,” Wills says by way of introduction the potent ‘Liquid Paper’; “…actually there’s a few of those.”
It’s rare for a sold-out room to be so patiently silent, but the song’s poignant, beautiful mood commands a deathly quiet respect and a pure ‘pin-drop’ moment. A spine-tingling peak reached yet again during a purely unamplified take of ‘This Is What I Write’.
Though intended as the closing number, the rapturous response manages to draw an unplanned encore in which a very chuffed looking Wills returns with Folvig for a reductive, splendid cover of Radiohead’s ‘Nude’.
While Ainslie Wills (and her talented supports) may be on the emerging end of the career spectrum, proclaiming her brilliance now isn’t jumping the gun – it’s right on target.
