some of it was true!

Sometimes the density and variation of London’s music scene is so exhilarating I want to run and hug complete strangers in the street.  (It’s only because I live in Kings Cross, home to many a heroin addict, that such fantasies stay in my head.)  Shona Foster perfectly epitomises this depth: she’s absurdly talented, yet largely unkown.  Perhaps it’s because she’s a bit different, and inhabits the quirky, auteurish end of the spectrum: the part where dreamers hang out and girls phone you back.

She might only be a tall, elegant brunette of tender years, but Shona sings with the ache of a heartbroken, greying widow.  Using a velvet quilt of a voice, much of her repertoire involves tales of loss and life supported by a forlorn piano, and tender woodwind.  This is musical mulled-wine, infused with woodsmoke, warmth and wisdom.  But Shona can also do riotous rackets akin to showtunes from musicals – hooplas of relentless pace, an eclectic cast of instruments and thrilling theatricality – as well as bouncy, fiddle-backed numbers and murmurous, silky jazz.  I scarcely dare say it, but there’s a touch of the Florence in her determined creativity, and focus on melody.

Right now the places to see Shona are the capital’s more imaginative venues – like Passing Clouds in Dalston, on Thursday 8 April – as well as her native Brighton, but perhaps that’s no bad thing: these are the sorts of cosy corners where her charismatic songs will be all the more atmospheric and affecting.  And where you might meet a girl who’ll phone you back.

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