Angie Hart

When you walk into the Republic and everyone is sitting down patiently waiting, with hesitant anticipation-filled looks towards the stage, you know you are about to be treated to a blissful, intimate gig. Perhaps one that is reminiscent of those moments in your lounge room or backyard surrounded by people you love, sharing vinyl or a bottle or two of your most affordable drop.

Hayley Couper took to the stage first. For a petite blonde, her stage presence is immense; the night felt like it should be billed 'beautiful feminine bombshell' evening. Hayley, joined by a drummer played a very long yet alluring, cohesive set. The crowd sat patiently, for they knew that it was just a part of the greater whole of what was to be Angie Hart's moment.

Then Angie Hart floated on to the stage. Such a dramatic difference between her days that I remembered her as a young, short-haired red-locked girl to this stunning, lithe pale-haired lady that stood on that stage. An ethereal, leaning towards an angelic, appearance ensued, her rainbow ink peeking through winged sleeves. Like a clash of contradictions or of space and time, her days of Frente old, worn like a favourite badge and her soft yet solid edges shone.

I watched her as she battled her Frente demons with a smile (having recently read an article in Rolling Stone that briefly touched on the anguish of Kelly St, an anthem for my youth, and my lovely younger sister), her latest offering produced by Kasey Chambers' husband Shane Nicholson, shows what happens when a strong yet gentle man teams up with an equally strong and gentle woman.

Angie Hart could have played her show in the depths of a sewer and it still would have shone like a diamond. Looking timeless, at times ageless, and angelic, she gave hope to the battered and broken and comfort to the lovers in the room; the lost, the found and all that came to spend a moment of precious and quality time with a songstress of such brilliance.

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