BRUCE SOORD
There’s a horizontal A4 sign hanging at the foot of the stairs leading up to the snug and tasteful environs of Nell’s, a venue in West Kensington that could easily double as a members’ club in a 70s crime thriller. Deliberately hung at eye level to make it impossible to ignore, it politely requests that patrons refrain from talking during the performance. A real shame, then, that there’s a tiny but vocal minority that choose to ignore it. And – given the introspective nature of the music on offer tonight – more than a little ironic that some of the jibber-jabber emanates from Bruce Soord’s own crew, who are asked to tone it down by a couple of disgruntled fans.