Not Another Indie Cabaret

Jessamae St James, in a spangled frock and platforms, plays piano, kazoo, electric ukulele and some kind of weird electric keyboard on her knees.  She claims that she cannot play any of these instruments very well – but, hey, it’s cabaret – right?  - and a kind of rambling, confessional address is integral.  She also uses an electronic ‘effects station’ to make loops of her own voice. She mixes those right there on stage and the mixes become the backing track for some of her songs.  And she sings extremely well.  I’m not the first to say that this show is about Ms St James’ voice.  It’s phenomenal.  She sings in different styles; she goes high, she goes low, she sings husky and sexy, she sings pure as a bell.  Effortlessly.  The singing voice is in sharp contrast to the speaking voice, which is – deliberately, I’m sure – apologetic-little-girl-airhead.  In between songs there’s some reflexive comedy – the familiar cabaret comedy schtick of the show being about putting on a show and being uncertain whether it’s ‘indie’ and would it be indie – if it were - if she tried too hard?  She’s shy but hopeful (‘please like me’) and she is, in this case, or in real life anyway, she says, a ‘clusterf**k’’ – but not a total clusterf**k - although she quickly adds that that is ‘totally okay’ – that is, to be partly a…    

What does ‘indie’ mean, anyway?  ‘Unaffiliated to a major record company or film studio’?  Yes.  My dictionary also says, ‘characteristic of the deliberately unpolished or uncommercialised style of small independent pop groups’.  In this case, yes, sort of – although Jessamae St James is not a pop group.  It’s just her.  But she is deliberately unpolished – except when she sings.

You’d think that just about any cabaret act was ‘unaffiliated’, a conclusion Ms St James comes to late in the show.  At first she asks, so, is this show not ‘indie’ – or not indie enough – or is it ‘not another indie cabaret’?  Of course it is indie, but that back and forth mock uncertainty is indicative of the show overall.  Meanwhile, her songs are just not as good as the singer.  As a comedienne, her timing needs work.  A routine about buying ridiculous stuff on eBay when drunk sneaks by on the song about it.  A better routine about her claiming on the Fringe Festival form – when drunk - that her show features ‘frequent nudity’ is funny because of a deliberately clumsy costume change, but a longish rant about gluten-free food does not earn its keep – unless you think ‘gluten-free tastes like shit’ is acerbic comment.  She goes a long way, all the same, and takes the audience with her because she is funny, undeniably sweet and very charming, and the voice is gorgeous.  By the end, we all love her and wish her well.   

Note to The Butterfly Club management.  There’s Ms St James on stage and throughout there’s the noise of loud talking, laughter, footsteps and glasses clinking clearly audible from the foyer above.  That’s just inconsiderate of the performer and the audience.  Cannot something be done?

Michael Brindley

Photographer: Rachel Mia