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Paul Jeffrey enjoys a relaxing and stripped back evening with Editors frontman Tom Smith in a uniquely intimate setting
Image by George Driver
Off The Beaten Track have been gaining something of an enviable reputation in recent times lifting musicians out of traditional venues and placing them in a plethora of increasingly remote locations, they’ve managed to create a unique and intimate experience for both artist and audience. Highlighting the calibre of musician the Off The Beaten Track concept can attract, Editors Tom Smith is the latest troubadour to venture down the road less travelled. Tom is touring in support of his soon to be released debut solo album There Is Nothing In The Dark That Isn’t There In The Light… which is why I found myself among the congregation of the Grade II listed Holy Cross Church in Ryton on an autumnal Sunday night.
Having seen Editors everywhere from small clubs to stadiums, the first thing you notice is just how much things have been stripped back. A few guitars on stands, a keyboard, an eight-string mandolin, and two microphones, and that’s it. Static lights fixed left and right, and a tiny PA all give no indication of the artist about to perform, understated it most certainly is. You could be forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled into a harvest festival celebration by mistake.
Tom appears from the church Sanctuary dressed in baggy clothes and baseball cap and flanked by his good friend and multi-instrumentalist Nick Miles, they proceed to drop a sublime 75-minute selection of new material and Editors tracks. Delicate new arrangements reveal intricate melodies that retain the raw power of Editors in full flow, but it’s the silence that now creates the scream, and whilst Papillion, Blood, Ocean of Night, Munich, Lights, and Smokers Outside The Hospital Door inevitably receive the biggest cheers of the evening, it’s the new solo material, particularly Northern Line, Leave, and Lights of New York City that truly deliver the shiver inducing highlight, the space inside the music allowing Smith to positively vibrate, eyes clasped shut, reaching into the void like an old time preacher, almost possessed, his voice soaring into the rafters of the old church, sounding effortless, purer and more affecting than at any time I’ve ever seen him live.
As the duo conclude a set that steadily builds from a fragile tension to reverb drenched majesty, the lucky souls present rise to their feet in rapture at the sublime and magical evening they’ve witnessed.
