Gig Review: Renaissance Fair At The George Tavern

Despite being whipped in the eye more times than I care to remember from a particularly flamboyant flag flyer, the main takeaway from this evening of whimsy and flair is one of comfort and belonging.

Cards on the table. I don’t know what The Renaissance is. 

I was preoccupied by a stranded ladybug when we covered it in school, and this black hole in my knowledge has been left to fester ever since. To me, The Renaissance means an adorable cog-operated musical puppet show in the grounds of Duloc whilst a strangely engaging 4’2” chap with luscious hair and a demonic heart rules with an iron fist. 

Luckily, this is more or less what I'm greeted with upon arrival to The Renaissance Fair at The George Tavern. Armed with un-branded popcorn, we’re bequeathed with a quaint little flag on entry, with each colour linked with one of the night's acts. Our attempts at fancy dress are modest in comparison with the swathes of 16th century style swimming through every corner of the room. Outside, the renowned smoking area of The George has taken the form of an Italian town square, with leotarded minstrels and well-hatted flute players sauntering betwixt the tables.

Such delightful whimsy is always in danger of feeling tagged on, of being thrown on for the sake of it without concern as to how it helps bring the evening together. This is not what we find here, and that is thanks in large part to the style and panache of the three acts on stage. Each band is introduced with a sing song introduction that delves into delightful rhymes (more camp preambles from a fella in a feathered hat and click clacky shoes please), and helps embellish the general feel of the night. 

We kick things off with Wednesday’s Child, whose ambling and slightly haunting take on dreamy psych pop sets a spooky yet engaging tone. Topped off with a dancer shrouded in smoke and more bassoon than you know what to do with, it’s a charmingly wonky and driving start to proceedings. See it for yourself when they headline The Seabright Arms on 24 April, you won’t regret it. 

Up next in the red corner is the earnest immediacy of Lusa Morena. Preceded by a sword fight at the front of the crowd, they whistle through a set that twists just as soon as you’ve settled into a genre. The heady mix of emo chug and classic rock riffs, interspersed with unexpected moments of tranquillity, is glued together by the energy of singer Bárbara. It is refreshing to see folk having the time of their lives on stage, and this infectious energy helps you not only engage with the band but with the whole concept of the evening too. 

The Famous Daxx bring the curtain down with a dollop of patience and intricacy. Quaint glockenspiels and measured harmonies sit atop tender songs which give the intimate lyrics the space they need to be fully realised. Like every act on the bill, they are adept at creating a warm and welcoming world that actively encourages you to park your pride and embrace the story they are trying to tell. 

It is a fitting end to an evening which could easily have fallen into the hammy traps that you associate with a soliloquy from Lord Farquad, yet instead offers a shared vision that brings multiple disciplines together in harmony and eagerly wants you along for the ride. Despite being whipped in the eye more times than I care to remember from a particularly flamboyant flag flyer, the main takeaway from this evening of whimsy and flair is one of comfort and belonging, and the unrivalled joy of seeing a hodgepodge of creative ideas delivered with welcoming warmth and a delicate touch. I might still not have fully grasped the dictionary definition of The Renaissance, but if it is anything like this then I have some dense literature to catch up on.