Gillian Welch and David Rawlings' performance at the Apollo was a masterclass in subtlety and chemistry, with the duo delivering a spellbinding 23-song set that left the audience entranced. The intimate setup, featuring just two stools and a tiny amplifier, belied the enormity of their sound, which swelled and ebbed like the American heartland itself.
Rawlings' Stetson-topped figure pogoed across the stage, his fingers dancing across vintage guitar strings as he conjured plaintive melodies reminiscent of Cat Stevens. Welch, meanwhile, glided effortlessly on her own instrument, her flowing dress billowing behind her like a spaghetti western poster child. Her voice soared and swooped, conjuring images of mountain ranges, open skies, and the hum of railroads.
As they navigated largely sad themes of loss and longing, the pair's rapport was palpable, their banter a delightful counterpoint to the songlines. The occasional foray into jokey repartee – Welch playfully quipping "Oh, God. Do I have to tell a joke now?" as Rawlings tuned up – only added to the evening's charm.
Welch and Rawlings are at the apex of their powers, their pairing – forged through years of collaboration on each other's albums – a match made in heaven. The duo's musical chemistry was on full display, with Welch and Rawlings trading lead vocals and harmonies like seasoned pros.
Highlights abounded, from Rawlings' heart-wrenching Ruby to Welch's wistful What We Had. The pair also delivered a pointed tribute to Woody Guthrie's This Land Is Your Land, which felt curiously timely. An encore that defied the law of diminishing returns saw the pair bring out bassist Paul Kowert for an unforgettable rendition of Jefferson Airplane's psychedelic-era anthem White Rabbit.
In short, Welch and Rawlings are two artists in love with their craft, and it shows in every note they play. As the house lights went up and the crowd clamored for more, it was clear that neither party wanted the evening to end – a testament to the enduring magic of this pair's partnership.
Rawlings' Stetson-topped figure pogoed across the stage, his fingers dancing across vintage guitar strings as he conjured plaintive melodies reminiscent of Cat Stevens. Welch, meanwhile, glided effortlessly on her own instrument, her flowing dress billowing behind her like a spaghetti western poster child. Her voice soared and swooped, conjuring images of mountain ranges, open skies, and the hum of railroads.
As they navigated largely sad themes of loss and longing, the pair's rapport was palpable, their banter a delightful counterpoint to the songlines. The occasional foray into jokey repartee – Welch playfully quipping "Oh, God. Do I have to tell a joke now?" as Rawlings tuned up – only added to the evening's charm.
Welch and Rawlings are at the apex of their powers, their pairing – forged through years of collaboration on each other's albums – a match made in heaven. The duo's musical chemistry was on full display, with Welch and Rawlings trading lead vocals and harmonies like seasoned pros.
Highlights abounded, from Rawlings' heart-wrenching Ruby to Welch's wistful What We Had. The pair also delivered a pointed tribute to Woody Guthrie's This Land Is Your Land, which felt curiously timely. An encore that defied the law of diminishing returns saw the pair bring out bassist Paul Kowert for an unforgettable rendition of Jefferson Airplane's psychedelic-era anthem White Rabbit.
In short, Welch and Rawlings are two artists in love with their craft, and it shows in every note they play. As the house lights went up and the crowd clamored for more, it was clear that neither party wanted the evening to end – a testament to the enduring magic of this pair's partnership.