Sharon Van Etten – review

Shepherd's Bush Empire, LondonSharon Van Etten's songs are stealthy creatures. They skulk through the dark, cry to the moon, lick their own wounds with fragile pride. When they attack, their emotion is pulverising. Frequently, Shepherd's Bush Empire feels too big for them: they want somewhere more intimate, where their smell of matted blood is inescapable. Halfway through this gig, Van Etten confesses that she has a cold, she's doing her best – and surely she is. Her performance is essentially...

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