It appears that Regina Spektor has finally crossed over from word-of-mouth cult to left-field star, judging by her rapturous reception at a packed Birmingham show on Monday. Almost before she settled at her grand piano, audience members were yelling out marriage proposals and strange sexual propositions. The 29-year-old New Yorker just laughed before launching into her kooky urban shanties full of breathy babble and exaggerated glottal stops.
Born in Soviet-era Moscow but brought up in New York, the classically trained Spektor has earned comparisons to everyone from Joni Mitchell to Bj?rk with her eccentric brand of “anti-folk”. On stage, however, she could be the musical younger sister of the moon-faced comedian Kristen Schaal, aka Mel from Flight of the Conchords. She certainly has the same instantly endearing mix of nervy humour, wonky charm and unruly hair, even if her self-consciously quirky mannerisms annoy some music critics.
Spektor’s piano playing was augmented by a violinist, cellist and drummer on the crafted chamber-pop tracks from Far, her latest and most polished album so far. Most of these, from the softly quivering Eet to the jaunty music-hall gallop Folding Chair, fell just the right side of sugary whimsy. The strikingly serious Laughing With, an uncharacteristically sombre meditation on attitudes to God in times of crisis, was only slightly marred by its unfortunate resemblance to a cloying Alanis Morissette power ballad.
Playing solo for most of the show’s second half, Spektor teased out the rougher textures and darker, more surreal humour in her older songs. To enormous cheers, she performed the droll observational monologue Silly Eye-Colour Generalisations entirely a cappella, then applied scratchy guitar to Bobbing for Apples, which featured the memorable refrain “someone next door’s f***ing to one of my songs”.
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The playful surface mood of Spektor’s music can be deceptive. Behind her giddy, stream-of-consciousness tumble through That Time lay a bleary vignette about a friend’s drug overdose. Returning to the piano for Après Moi, she whipped up a storm of crashing melodrama while quoting Boris Pasternak in Russian, her sole concession to her family roots. By contrast, the quietly menacing Ballad of a Politician managed to convey world-weary cynicism in just a few soft, lovely strokes.
With bigger stages now beckoning, Spektor may soon need to inject more dynamism and diversity into her indie-folk presentation style. This was not a hugely exciting show, but it was thoroughly charming.
Tour continues tomorrow, Manchester Apollo; Friday, Hammersmith Apollo, London W6