Review: Gregory Alan Isakov, Bristol Beacon – ‘Echo and reverie’

I first came across Gregory Alan Isakov just over a decade ago, in those halcyon early days of Spotify algorithms.

My fallible memory suggests he appeared via Ben Howard, Justin Vernon and Iron & Wine – which makes sense, because Isakov shares traits with all three: soulful, introspective, layered, and beautifully easy to listen to.

Quite a voice on him, too. Silky baritone, for the most part, but with enough fleeting falsetto turns that you recognise his range and bask in it. The Fall exemplifies both sides at play.

Such is the gravel and gravitas in his delivery that, at times, Isakov’s syllables melt into one another – an ambiguity that adds a heightened tinge of sadness to his most poignant stories.

Born in Joburg, raised in Philly, and now based in Colorado, Isakov’s ruminations on love, longing and loss feel simultaneously universal and deeply American. Take This Empty Northern Hemisphere, for example – “smoke it flies from whisky mouths, vagabonds walk this suitcase town.” You can picture it.

I’ll wax lyrical about Isakov’s lyricism, but honestly, I’d rather he wrote it. My prose pales beside lines like: “Time has a way of throwing it all in your face, the past she is haunted, the future is laced.”

That, from Big Black Car, is performed far slower than the studio version, backed by a whispering wind that adds to the aching mysticism.

Then there’s Master & A Hound – “Where were you when I was still kind, just a water treader waiting on the line.” He croons it solo, a disco ball scattering light that occasionally blinds the crowd.

That deep, velvety voice – a certified room temperature Galaxy Caramel of a voice – reaches out and grabs your arm hairs with little levers. They don’t stand a chance.

It’s a lush, transporting musical show with the experience augmented by the room’s atmospheric lighting

But it’s not all deeply poetic. There are more overt emotional landscapes: “If it weren’t for second chances we’d all be alone.”

The sound mix places the instruments in a kind of chamber – potent but distant. Rim clicks. Reverb-heavy keys. It suits Isakov perfectly, as does the ample echo on his vocals, which linger and bounce languidly off the Beacon’s wood-panelled walls.

The dark, moody lighting completes the deliberate feng shui; you can barely see his face at any point. When players appear under the striped spotlight, it’s like they’re about to be beamed up to some indie folk mothership.

Isakov and his band (“I’m so lucky I get to perform with my best friends every night”) glide steadily but unhurriedly between songs, from opener She Always Takes It Black to familiar favourite Amsterdam, closing with Dark, Dark, Dark and The Stable Song.

For those numbers, they cluster around a single mic – a busk before hundreds of swooning listeners. Solos from the banjo. Maracas at the fore.

Isakov calls his band his “best friends”

So no, it’s not all slow and sonorous. The rockier numbers inject energy and maintain momentum. Liars is special, with the distorted right-mic introductory words and the crescendo that dances alongside brilliant violin work. Every time there’s an upturn, the violinist and double bassist prance toward each other like jovial jousters.

If you’ve not already, do yourself a favour: listen start-to-finish to Gregory Alan Isakov with the Colorado Symphony. It’s an orchestral twist on some of his finest tracks – lush, transportive, and truly a treat to boot.

All images: Samuel Fletcher

Read next:

• Review: Maruja, Electric Bristol – ‘Unapologetically incendiary’
• Review: Shackleton Trio, Downend Folk & Roots – ‘Gloriously intricate, full of potential’
• Meet the categories: Bristol’s music legends