Stepping through the door at Liverpool’s 81 Renshaw St the first person we spot on entry is Andy Cabic (aka Vetiver) in mid-conversation with the record store owner. Smiling and slowly flicking through titles the pair discuss the new David Crosby documentary, Remember My Name. Cabic cuts an unassuming figure in his flat cap, backdropped by checkered shelves of album artwork.
Vetiver has always held their own on this terrain. Much like Joan Shelley’s Like the River Loves the Sea, which I’m stood costing up, Cabic’s music is nuanced and sensitive, with no glitz or grandstanding needed in order for it to be heard. I notice at the centre of both Shelley and Vetiver’s most recent albums stand blue mountains, stately and timeworn.
Having finished eavesdropping I filter through to the adjoining venue where London’s Treetop Flyers are setting up. Taking their name from Stephen Stills’ Treetop Flyer from 1991’s Still Alone, CSN&Y comparisons are to be expected here. Deeply inspired by 60s & 70s folk rock, Sam Beer’s tender croon and Reid Morrison’s close harmony are highly evocative of that period. Apparently Vetiver have been unable to shake this lot for the last couple of tours and as Cabic agrees during his set, “(the) guys sure can sing”.
During I Knew I’d Find You and Is It Worth It (which has a distinct Simon & Garfunkel lilt) a couple sway together at the front, whilst those deeper in the crowd nod approvingly to each other in the half-light. Capturing some of that Hiss Golden Messenger country soul, aside from one drunken dispute that breaks out midway through Vetiver’s set, both acts have a very calming effect on this evening’s audience. Like a sturdy shoulder or a chest that you nestle into, as the acoustic and voice wrap around, you can’t help but feel cradled by this music; loosening up naturally, like a Persian cat sprawled out on a sheepskin.
Opening with Bobby Charles’ I Must Be In A Good Place Now – “a little incantation” as Andy puts it – that stillness grows more pronounced. Most of the set is made up of tracks taken from Vetiver’s seventh record, Up On High (reviewed here). Much to our surprise, Cabic admits it’s only his fourth live solo outing ever. Hearing the songs stripped of their accompanying arrangements, it’s the delicate quiver of Cabic’s voice and the finesse of his finger work that resonate tonight. And performed in this context, the strengths of his songwriting and storytelling are plain to see.
I Know No Pardon and Nowhere To Go, older cuts from 2006’s To Find Me Gone are met with strong applause, the latter recalling the twisting psych blues of Donovan. His cover of Suzan Vega’s Gypsy treads a similar footing to These Days by Jackson Browne. Both penned at a remarkably young age, they hint at a wisdom well beyond their years and this thoughtfulness is captured by Cabic beautifully, before an equally stirring rendition of A Door Shuts Quick. “What’s coming apart won’t fit back together anymore” he sings, in his aching, warm manner.
Up On High might not garner widespread radio play or top each end of year list, but that’s understandable because Vetiver’s music is subtle and slow-burning, destined for a more discerning alternative following. Of all the names Cabic got lumped in with during the freak-folk movement (a label he’s keen to distance himself from now) live he perhaps relates best to ex-touring partner Vashti Bunyan: mellow, measured and quietly affecting.
Up On High is out now on Loose