As a venue the The Slaughtered Lamb is best described as intimate. On entering the performance area you feel as though you have been transported to your friends basement flat in Wandsworth. Its a Saturday night and the general idea is to relax.
The lighting is low, scatter cushions adorn mismatched sofas and chairs and contentment is found perched on a bar stool as one nurses a shot of JD and coke.
Kelli was in and amongst her collected crowd, and I thought to myself ‘Wow… Is that her?...’ I reminded myself that it was rude to stare, and controlled the undeniable urge to blab out something ridiculous.
Upon taking to the stage, Kelli welcomes the crowd and invites us to move closer for the sake of harnessing our potential energies. For me this was an opportunity to gain a greater vantage point, however I mistimed the potential occupation of a vacant chair and was now stood directly in front of her microphone.
Somewhat conscious of a potentially embarrassing situation, I dropped into a sitting position on the floor.
Looking up, I saw ‘Kelli Ali’ standing before me, and it cemented the realisation that this was the closest I was ever going to get to being 16 again and hearing that voice for the first time.
Accompanied by acoustic guitar, flute and cello we are invited to a far more ethereal realm that delivers the fulfillment of a promise that was first whispered on the Sneaker Pimps cover of ‘How Do’.
Distilled from the world of samples and processed beats her lyrics are transposed upon a sonic landscape of rolling fields and green shires that gave the performance an overall sensibility of pastoral integrity and in doing so enabled ones mind to drift… and once again I was laying in awe on my bedroom floor…
After the gig, I knew that I would kick myself if I didn’t at the very least say thank you, so I did, because her music does provide the best soundtrack for the long hard road especially when one is living a life less ordinary!