Watch that man

Last Friday, flanked by rows of books and the Blutack-flecked walls of the children’s section of Brixton Library, against a backdrop of wailing sirens, the brilliant Phillip Jeays played to a packed house, although he had mentally prepared himself for an audience of three, he told us. Jeays is a singer-songwriter but don’t let that put you off. He bears no resemblance to James Blunt. Think more Jacques Brel meets a young David Bowie then throw in a dash of Sondheim and a touch of Satan (but in a good way) — and still you wouldn’t quite have it. The man defies description. It’s amazing that his combination of barbed yet self-deprecatory lyrics and impassioned delivery hasn’t catapulted him into the big time. Then again, perhaps it’s not. Jeays is not the sort to co-operate with A&R men. The songs, which he inhabits rather than sings, are funny and mordant and tender by turn, and rail against hypocrisy in all its forms.

Jeays’ performance was part of Lambeth Readers and Writers Festival, and the gig was free. Hurrah! This was particularly heartening in the age of ever-proliferating rip-off pop festivals which, as well as charging exorbitant prices for tickets that sell out in 10 seconds, ban presumably fairly cash-strapped young festival-goers from bringing their own food and drink into the arena, thereby forcing them to buy from expensive stalls on-site (£7 burger, anyone?). Apparently the longest queues by far at last year’s V Festival were the ones for the cash points.