Olivia Chaney @ The Famous Spiegeltent

“I’ve played some pretty far-out places, but this is something else,” Olivia Chaney softly speaks as she looks around The Famous Spiegeltent, taking a moment before her performance to appreciate the Victorian architecture. She smiles sweetly as she takes the stage, sighs wistfully for long-gone lovers and friendships and spouts odes-to-thee from both contemporary and classical artists.

Chaney is a folk artist in the truest sense of the word – she was taught by hand and word of mouth how to play each of the songs in her repertoire, which makes her jumping from Brazilian ballads in honour of her deceased South American tutor (whose name was far too quickly spoken and Brazilian for me to possibly have caught) to a modern recreation of Monteverdi’s madrigals all the more appropriate.

She bounces between her most natural acoustic guitar to a piano that is “detuned specifically to get that shit kind of pub sound”, finishing on her box accordion. Her mastery of all three instruments is obvious from the get-go as she transitions between them with seamless poise, telling a short anecdote in between each song in her soft, endearing British accent.

The most charming thing about Chaney’s performance is the contrast between her demeanour when speaking, and acting through her body the deep sadness that permeates every single one of her songs. She entrances herself in each song, with lines of concentration forming across her brow on every chordal shift, snapping out of her sadness with a shy smile at the end. As is the norm with a folk singer, her music belies the wisdom of countless generations that have passed their story onto other artists. You find yourself closing your eyes and letting Chaney take you back to Renaissance France or to the Scottish Highlands for a jaunt, such is the pleasure of her company.