Yahoo! Music Review

Gig played on 21/01/09

Rodrigo Amerante steps forward to the mic, his fingers engaging with his acoustic guitar like a butterfly dancing from one pollen-bearing bud to the next as his husky Portuguese tones begin to flutter languidly, romantically through "Evaporar" in his mother tongue. Casual chatterers are shamed to silence by a collective "shhhh!" and when he battles feedback with an embarrassed shrug there is rapt applause urging him on. For a song so soft, from a band so genial, performed before the set has even had chance to draw breath, there is a seemingly disproportionate amount of fever and adulation flooding the modestly sized Dingwalls. Of course, the reason stays hidden for about as long as it takes him to clamber up onto the stage.

"Hello London!" hollers Fab Moretti, drummer with The Strokes and fascination point with Little Joy, the side project he formed with Brazilian musician Amerante and current beau, New York singer-songwriter Binki Shapiro. In a visibly playful mood he pays tribute to the crowd for the first of many times tonight, and London for giving him his break with The Strokes, his excitement teetering on giddy hysteria and busting unapologetically through the veneer of continental artistry set moments earlier.

He then leads a charge through the bossanova choppiness of "Next Time Around" with the boisterousness of a play-fight ending in a fit of giggles. The overwhelming impression, sealed by the time third song "How To Hang A Warhol" is carried through on a continuing surge of goodwill, is just how much more joy is eked from their sweet, self-titled debut album than anyone could have expected live.

When it arrived towards the end of last year as siesta-indie pitched between Vampire Weekend and Beirut, it felt fairly private, indulgent, low-key. Here though, with their sound bulked by the contributions of support band Dead Trees, the bonhomie, quiet reverence and obvious camaraderie between them is played out as absolutely as it can be without overpowering its fragile bonds.

Each song really is performed by a true ensemble in spite of the star billing. "Walking Back To Happiness", a cover of '60s jazz singer Helen Shapiro, is fluffed amid shared, blameless laughter, recovering to shimmy as a lilting ska torch song. This spirit is transferred to the venue at large during "Don't Watch Me Dancing" , erupting from its sea-shanty origins into a full-on East End pub knees-up, hanging melodic bunting and waltzing with a gathering vigour towards a communal sunset. A triumph and nothing smaller. And we'll hear less of the "Little" too.

by James Berry