Monday 11/06/07 Grace, Smallwhitelight, Naomi Roper @ Borderline, London

As much as The Borderline is a credible fixture on the intimate London gigging circuit, it undeniably resembles a Jumpin’ Jaks nightclub…for those of you interested (and currently unfamiliar with) these wild-west themed hot spots can be found in such desirable locations as Basildon, Halifax and Wigan. Yee-haaa. Anyway hip night spot recommendations aside, first to saddle up this Monday evening is folksy strummer Naomi Roper. Backed occasionally by her percussion centred band, the venue’s acoustics complement her handful of songs perfectly. Every xylophone dink and drum brush resonates delightfully around the room as the crowd swells with the steady drip drip of Charing Cross Road punters. Her Joni Mitchell/Eva Cassidy tinged tunes soothe in a world weary and reflective way. As well as being ****ing stunning to look at, Roper’s confidence with her material and her on stage demeanour result in a very accomplished set. The cover of Michael Jackson’s ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’ to close the set should be filed under ‘interesting’, but overall she can bask in the glory of two thumbs well and truly up. And we didn’t even have to mention that David Sneddon replaced her on Fame Academy a few years back…

After awkwardly bumping into Gigwise in the gents after a bit of a retch’n’spit, Jim Oxborrow leads Smallwhitelight out to rouse the barflies from their Roper induced relaxed state. And rouse they certainly do. Ranging from upbeat harmony driven indie-pop (Kooksy but with a bit more bite) to leery Jamie T flecked numbers, Smallwhitelight kick Monday night and all who sail in her right up the jacksy. Before long a roomful of brains are drowned in beer and Tuesday morning is looming on the horizon like a nasty appointment at the GUM clinic. Resembling a Jack Russell who was playing perfectly nicely until something pissed it off, SWL’s set gets meatier and more vicious as it progresses. Job done.

Mr Grace has had a haircut. This excites the venue no end. It takes at least two songs for the penny to drop that he scarily resembles Preston “Ordinary Boys/Mr Chantelle” with Sting’s (Police era) hairstyle grafted onto his scalp. Once that’s cleared up we can start to concentrate. While it is true that the well-trodden path to work is usually the safest (well-lit, less chance of being mugged/flashed etc), it’s never going to take your breath away or persuade you to skive off and get a tattoo of a nude woman on your wrist (last Tuesday, regretting it a bit now). It has to be said that Grace push all the right buttons here for their staunch fan base, but at the same time you couldn’t really accuse them of pushing the musical envelope either.

Their radio-friendly, indie-guitar appeal is set off by John-Paul Jones’ undeniably strong voice; across the course of their set his voice strains, soars and dips beautifully and even pulls off angsty quite well in some places. Grace’s comfort zone is definitely underneath the Snow Patrol/Keane umbrella though, and this will probably ensure they have a hit album, a million pounds and a crack problem before next summer. Accessible rock will always sell and when you throw a dash of Coldplay flavoured keys in with the other M-O-R ingredients there’s a sizeable unit-shifting pie on which to feast. Grace leave their faithful audience giddy, but their bank manager even giddier