Enola Fall

Stepping into the Alley Cat on a cold late July winter evening is like entering a velvet oasis, my breath cutting a line in the air, a visual representation of the cold I was leaving behind. There was something nostalgic and beautiful about seeing Enola Fall in July 2008 at the Alley Cat. The last time I saw the band play live was mid 2006, in the same building, but with the label of the Trout, the grungy pub seeing my very first attempt at gig reviewing, my very first viewing of Enola Fall – version of old, with different figures assuming the position of drummer and guitar.

The Alley Cat is a stunning venue. The opportunities for a writer to twist and tangle with beautiful words are endless. The thought and care taken into taking the venue from standard corner pub to its current state is something of wonder. The furniture and fittings are opulent. Generous and plush couches welcome you to sit and wait for bands. Tables beckon you to eat and be merry. And a jug of water on the counter with glasses sits meekly offering the water drinkers the opportunity to get their own, often saving the embarrassment and annoyance of bar staff that need to spend time getting patrons harder drinks.

The evening opened with support, Myblackson – a group of young things who barely looked of legal age – but in this age of the eternally young looking I could be entirely wrong in that assumption. Their music was short and sharp – and although green in their delivery their style of punk pub rock – grimy yet clever - was captivating. At times you can often suffer through the support – barley holding your attention until the main act, the act you have shelled out your bucks for, arrives on stage.

I loved them – they had a group of loyal fans – three boys at the front with the appropriate heckles and beers – with one moment seeing a band member kick over a beer – so pub band – so much character! If that one was of their first shows, which I believe it was, the only way for these dudes is up. I think confidence and experience will see them being a headline act in the not too distant future and I most definitely would love to see them play live again.

Next was Enola Fall. The band I was waiting to see with baited breathe. I was coming for purely pleasurable reasons – not with writer Belle mode in play. But this writer always loves the opportunity to play with words and is ready in an instant to put pen to paper – actually I am a girl that always has a pen and a piece of paper in her bag like a boy scout of old.

I find Joe Nuttall as a singer and songwriter purely sublime. I watched him in amazement in 06 and now, 2 years later still feel this little ‘musical heart-skip-a-beat’ moment – he satisfies a music lover no end. There were new songs to look forward to like ‘Isle of the dead’ written by Joe when he was overseas, and old favourites like ‘Raise an army’ and ‘We become wolves’ – really every song held me captivated, and I had that moment of not wanting it to end – not something that I always feel at the end of a gig – 11 songs and an encore was not enough… but as a set was perfectly well rounded and executed.

The crowd was generous and enthralled – the room filled comfortably so, with room to breathe and move. Joe is a showman – he knows how to entertain and involve the crowd. Something that a lot of musicians often forget once they get on stage – the concentration on sounds and lyrics leaving the audience wanting more than someone on stage making sure they get their instruments and voices to do the right things. Not Enola Fall – with trombones and guest drummers and at one point Joe leaving the stage to waltz and no doubt make heart’s flutter, with his audience dance participation moment taking a band’s set to something more of a show, an experience.

The change of lineup for Enola seems to be gelling well – with Joe, vocals, guitar and keys and Psam Parsons on Bass and percussion, now joined by Linc le Fevre (of Fell to Erin and solo fame) on guitar and vocals and Stan Barnes on drums. I get the impression of a tight well oiled machine working towards a common goal of creating beautiful music together.

And then the night ended well, too soon. I sat for a moment in a beautiful, large red chair (making me feel like a child being swallowed by a luscious piece of furniture) wondering if perhaps I could take up residence at the Alley Cat and stay just a little longer amongst the chandeliers and things and people of beauty. The wine list beckoned promises of divine wine – which for a girl unable to drink wine at the moment was a little bit of a tease. And with that I bade goodbye to the venue and cut a line across the winter Hobart night again, forced pink pushed back in my cheeks, the clock just touching midnight.

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