Natalie Merchant

TO call the immense popularity of Natalie Merchant a surprise since the demise of the 10000 Maniacs would not be quite fair. She is a genuine talent, and has more taste in her appendix than most singers have in their entire catalogue. It's just that while her solo material is engaging, surely it was the quality of songs such as Hey, Jack Kerouac that deserved the recognition rather than the charming, but slightly bland, bulk of her Friday night set at the Olympia.

She has many qualities that raise her above the plethora of bruised singer-songwriters that have risen on the post-Alanis tide. One is her voice. Another is her sense of proportion. If you don't find songs that express the `bleeding heart within' too pansy-ish, there is some fine music here.

But most of all it was her wit that captured her audience. On the down side was the poor balance that fuddled any intricate work that would have made this concert truly special. There's no point in gently-weighted entries on the grand piano if they are swamped by the boomy mix.

Nevertheless, her choice of covers (note to Natalie: Jeff Buckley good, Oasis bad, terrible even), her readiness to break into whatever the American equivalent of seannos is and her bare-foot stage presence made this a worthwhile, if slightly worthy, evening.