THIS fast-rising trio were made in Glasgow, but they're an American band at heart, and we're not just saying that because their singer comes from Chicago. Sparrow and the Workshop mix Fifties Nashville, Sixties San Francisco and Noughties New York wi
th a smart amalgam of country and western, psychedelic rock and freak folk that's about as exciting as anything else new you'll hear in 2009.
With just a minimal drumkit and a couple of guitar amps for company, the small King Tut's stage looked like it might swallow them up, but there was no such problem with their sound. Front woman Jill O'Sullivan (who used to perform solo as the charmingly monikered Dead Sparrow) is a mild-mannered belle who probably doesn't step out the door without a flower in her hair, yet her voice is deceptively huge – all lusty and gorgeous like Sandy Denny when tethered, then wild and mellifluous à la Grace Slick when cut loose. Scottish drummer Gregor Donaldson lends complimentary harmonies. His playing is intelligent and economical, his only indulgence being a big bit of thin wobbly metal attached to his kit which he whacked for whip-cracking effect in the Johnny Cash-invoking Devil Song. Welshman Nick Packer, who alternated between guitar and bass, is one of those astute and deeply involved axe men whom you can imagine lying awake at night worrying about his amplifier settings.
Like any great trio, they add it all up to create something much more than the sum of its parts, be it during mournful ballads or swelling country rock numbers. You can see Sparrow and the Workshop snaring fans of classic roots music just as easily as lovers of the old-but-new Fleet Foxes and their ilk.
