Live
< George Pringle@Pop Bar, Soho
words by Mandy Drake
pics by
Keeping George Pringle company on stage is a maroon 1980s sports bag and the 22 year old’s customary Apple Mac iBook. This fact alone should make you want to see this 100% solo star, and we’ve not even got to her Garage Band produced beats and buzzes, her ability to stop Pop regulars sipping their Margaritas for 20 whole minutes or her unavoidable good looks yet. “Let me introduce you to my band,” she says, pointing at her laptop and rolling out the first of her myspace influenced, melodramatic pop poems. Alone. On stage. The complete centre of attention. It sounds like a nightmare that you couldn’t wake from quickly enough, but for George Pringle this is her craft - sharing her inner most thoughts with those who care to listen, singing on occasion, but, more often than not, speaking directly and in a matter-of-fact tone. If she is scared half to death, you’d have trouble realising it. Dressing up in Roy Orbison sunglasses, filling empty silences with retorts of “I made this dress today, it didn’t work, I’m sorry” and pretending to slit her wrists as she name checks Joy Division, all add to either the illusion or truth that George Pringle doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone thinks. This is what she does. Take it or leave it. Hell, for the closing, fashionista cutting ‘I Know Who Mumm-Ra Are Too Darling’ a newly befriended myspacer is even asked onstage to turn lyric cards, unrehearsed, à la Bob ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ Dylan.
And yes, it’s all very endearing. But more importantly than that, songs such as the opening autobiographical ‘Carte Postale’ and the equally poignant ‘SW10’ sound like nothing else you’ll hear this side of Andy Warhol’s New York pad, circa 1968. Drums skit and spoken word tales of love, life and heartache are thrown out there while George clutches her lyric notes for company.
Her harshest critics may have cheaply accused her of using her looks to get ahead in her career but tonight proves that John Merrick could gain critical acclaim with tunes like these.
Originally appeared in volume 1, issue 19 of Loud & Quiet magazine
