I went to see Cate Le Bon live last week, it was the first night of her US tour and there were probably only about 30 people in the small club (now that’s what I call a cult following) which was a little disappointing and made me worry about the atmosphere. But then Cate hit the stage looking like a Wiccan Mary Quant, all Mod hair, dark eye makeup, and long black cape (or whatever that was she was wearing) and I didn’t care if there were 30, three, or 30,000 people there because she and her band were fantastic, cooking up a spiky, jangly, spooky, psych-folky noise with Cate’s voice sounding especially fine. She plays a mean guitar too and you know how much I like a girl with a guitar.
Standing at the bar after the show finishing my beer who should come up and order a drink right next to me but Cate Le Bon herself. So I said hello, told her the gig was great, and she asked me if I wanted a drink too which was very, very nice of her — I had what she was having, a Jameson’s on the rocks. First time in my life I’ve been bought a drink by someone I own records by (OK, not exactly “bought”, she got free drinks but it’s the thought that counts).
I wish I could tell you we had a profound conversation about the meaning of her songs and her influences and all that jazz, but instead we mostly chatted about the snowy weather back home and how long it takes to drive across America (her tour ends in LA). That’s me, the sad bastard who talks to sexy female rock singers about the weather and long-distance driving.