Zadok the Priest blares from all corners of the stage. King Charles (aka Charles Costa) and his sister Wednesday (aka Claudia) stand side by side, arms extended, letting the healing powers of the music flow over them. Once Charles picks up the guitar, all theatrical gimmicks fade as the music takes over. He sure knows his way around a guitar or three. Taking time to remove and replace a piece of clothing between each Van Halen-esque solo, he delights the crowd and their endless attempts to capture him on camera.
Despite having found four new band members – the last time I saw Charles he was alone with his guitar and his tower of hair – King Charles\’ music hasn\’t lost any of its intimacy. Singing about love, the inevitability of death, polar bears, and crocodiles, he still draws the audience in. Each song skits from folk to country via blues, without ever becoming predictable. Although it\’s difficult to pinpoint the direction of his music as he MCs, sings and laughs throughout, his intensity is never lost.
Responding to an anonymous \”we want another song\” from a distinctly \’Oxford\’ voice in the crowd, he resurrects Billy Joel in his last song, We Didn\’t Start the Fire. The whole crowd is jumping and jiving and ignoring the creaking moans of the Tavern\’s not so sturdy floor. Lyrics such as \”Labour government, you\’ve embarrassed us all\” demonstrate the musician\’s political edge, who name-checks a long list of celebrities and current affairs in his anthem to the noughties.
It has to be said that the live King Charles puts his Myspace doppelgänger to shame, breathing life into songs that sound disjointed and confused online. The energy in his music is inescapable: his jangly guitar riffs and heart-warming tales of woe remind me of a new Devendra Banhart, one diagnosed with the best kind of ADHD. If you haven\’t seen The King yet, don\’t waste another second. Let this mass of hair and creativity bowl you over in a live explosion of rap and roaring psychedelic hippy folk.
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