Viarosa

This venue's sweet fragrance of a reputation has so far, lived only my imagination. Today, a fevered curiosity towards headliners Viarosa, with their cryptic medievalisms, woven with an Americana weft, lures me here for the first time. To my great surprise, I find the Windmill to be a shed-cum-working man's club at the end of a domesticated side street, far away from Brixton's action centre. Time to readjust my elevated preconception. How and why do so many bands and so many punters make it all the way out to this strange little place? I wait to find out.

Treecreeper are in love with Americana. Fronted by two brothers, they throw themselves into living the dream, eyes closed occasionally in communion and thoughts of Jay Farrar and Uncle Tupelo. Their set is relaxed and competent, even if a tell tale faux American accent creeps in from time to time. Their fare is uncontroversial, convivial and nicely jangly.

Currently found on a never ending tour across the continents, Leeroy Stagger is the unknown package of the night. He unwraps story songs that course with intimacy and involvement, some of them tender, some bordering on ferocious. The young Canadian, who has previously opened for the Pixies, rolls like a stronger Josh Rouse, with a ragged, life-lived voice that crackles with knowing. As another tousle haired, country-pickin' emoter, it's pretty obvious that convenient talk would compare him to Ryan Adams, but that's really not fair. His tales have a homespun veneer but deep down, there's a seething black punk heart in this blue collar boy. He's awkward and modestly drunk in his between-song banter but this openness draws us closer to him. Canada is putting forth some great music at the moment and this yearning and endearing performer stands well amongst the best.

Ooh, Viarosa! I'm anxious with a smouldering anticipation because this year their album, 'Where The Killer Run', has made its home deep in me as nothing else has. Tonight, flesh and blood stand before me as conduits soul to soul, heart to heart. Will the band make it possible for me to lose my heart in them as I have the music?

I need not have worried. At the plaintive violin intro of 'Only Child', my eyes moisten in recognition. The first three songs come from their deep and moody edge, followed by a jaunty 'All This Worry', then two brand new songs are debuted and show rewarding signs of the band's development.

'Call To Arms' is a perfect example of their craft and Richard Neuberg's rich and sensual voice exudes gravitas and grace in the delivery of this extraordinary music. At one point, he holds (for what seems an eternity) an impassioned, solo vocal refrain that's enough to stop the mouths of onlookers. Viarosa take the core elements of Americana but build a very English downy nest for it to lie in. Allusions to daily words that Chaucer would have known does not mean that these guys pander to traditional (or any other kind of ) folk. They are as original as is possible within these parameters. Rousing live favourite 'Whiskeyworld' brings the night to a close before an encore invites another new song.

Viarosa are unbelievably special - as is Brixton's hidden heart, The Windmill.