DeptFord Goth

I might as well say it first off – the Union Chapel, as a venue, has an ineffable but undeniable power to enhance pretty much any gig. Perfect acoustics combine with beautiful surroundings here;
progressively bankrolled by gig promoters schooled in rock’n’roll – the Devil’s music.

So when an artist such as Deptford Goth takes the stage (in front of the pulpit), you can expect something pretty special.

String section, check; set full of emotionally exposed songs, check; low lights and dry ice, check. Sat at his keyboard, Woolhouse’s voice, poised and not-quitepure, floats over the downbeat electronica and warm strings like a shadow over a calm sea.

After ‘Feel Real’,DeptFord Woolhouse looks towards the lighting guy. “Can I have a bit more light?”

he asks, and then adds after a moment: “perpetually?”; and you wonder whether underlying that small joke there might be something with a rather deeper meaning.

Of course, that’s the thing with such an redictable talent; it’s not all enjoyable, but enhances the intrigue.

Will this nightprovoke anyone to stumble over their wordsin a fit of excitement? Probably not, and nor
is ‘Nobody Knows’ an album that deserves tobe worn out. However, as an unmasked Bealcroons beautifully on closer

‘The Flow’, youcan’t help but feel that he’s an extraordinary,confusing, self-spoiling enigma that deservesto be indulged and that this is just another
weird, semi-nonsensical page in his beguilingbackstory. We’ll certainly continue reading

clearly spurred on, moves unpredictably, like ahose filling with water, rising like a charmedsnake and pinging erratically from side to
side. It’s well-executed, but stood up by thestrutting brilliance of ‘2 Dry 2 Cry’ and thewhisky bar blues of ‘Disintegrating’, both of
which feel like the sound of Beal at his most
genuinely likeable.Of course, that’s

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