Live Music: Alanis Morissette and Skunk Anansie.

Yesterday I took a trip down to Exeter with a good friend to watch Alanis Morissette play Powderham Castle. Alanis is one the artists that had a significant influence on my youth: I listened to Jagged Little Pill obsessively, its raw, righteous female anger awaking something deep within me. In those days big-name, North American acts rarely toured in the UK, and rarer still played anywhere close enough for my teenage self to scrape together the funds for a ticket, train travel and an overnight stay in an unfamiliar city. The only chance I got to see some of them was when they headlined festivals like Glastonbury which, although expensive even then for a teenager, at least gave me the opportunity to work for my ticket, and a chance to tick of a whole lot of my bucket-list artists all in one place. I never had a shot at seeing Alanis in her heyday, and had more or less resigned myself to the idea that I never would.

So when I gleaned the information that my teenage hero would be playing in Exeter (from eavesdropping on a random conversation on a train, no less), I knew it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I booked tickets there and then. The clincher was Skunk Anansie in the support slot. Their early albums also formed part of the soundtrack of my youth, but they split up before I got to see them live. I knew they were back with new material, but I’ve become pretty bad at keeping up with music news and tour dates. By the time I remember to look into booking tickets they’re usually gone.

This is the first time I’ve been moved to write about a gig, but I’m trying to get into the habit of recording my memorable experiences in writing. And this was certainly memorable. The trip took on a special significance because it was the first time my friend Jess and I have been to a gig together in over twenty years. We met on the early ‘00s rock club scene in Plymouth and took our first trip to Glastonbury together in 2002. Back then we barely knew each other, but in the intervening years, after briefly losing touch when we went off to university — and then reuniting unexpectedly in Bristol — we formed a strong friendship that has endured through life’s ups and downs. Going to see artists that embodied special memories of our younger, more carefree years felt less like indulging nostalgia and more like a marker of our friendship and how far we’ve come.

Arriving off the back of the hottest June day on record, we were grateful temperatures had cooled back down to a sticky-but-survivable 30°C by the time we began our trip. After an uncomfortable, sweaty train journey squeezed into the vestibule of a packed carriage, the rest was plain sailing and we arrived on site via shuttle bus mid-afternoon. With a second stage, several support acts and a whole lot of food trucks to choose from, the country estate venue gave off festival vibes (albeit with above-average portaloos), made even sweeter by the fact that we had a comfortable 4-star hotel to go back to at the end of it. Support bands The Big Moon and Pale Waves were a joy to watch, and we managed to survive the afternoon without getting sunburnt. An entire line-up of female-fronted rock bands is a rare thing, and one I would happily enjoy more of.

But it was Skunk Anansie that really took things to the next level. Skin’s voice has lost none of its potency or range, and every single song packs a punch. Perhaps the most charismatic artist I’ve ever seen (and undoubtedly the coolest), she had the crowd wrapped around her finger from the get-go. Songs like Weak, Hedonism and Twisted (Everyday Hurts) had me jumping and singing along, and the newer material (like An Artist is an Artist) held the same visceral, gut-wrenching power. Her walk into the crowd armed with a camera, embracing audience members while singing with her entire heart and soul, felt like a life-affirming testament to the power of art and human connection, and a giant “fuck you” to the forces that seek to destroy it.

Alanis was a whole different dynamic, although no less impressive. The set began with a video montage of her multi-decade spanning career, complete with soundbites, which felt a little cringeworthy, as well as completely unnecessary: everyone was there because they knew what an incredible artist she was. They didn’t need to be sold. From the first moment, her substantial back catalogue, mostly mined from Jagged Little Pill had the whole crowd singing along (or shouting along, in the case of You Oughta Know), while others from follow-up albums Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie and Under Rug Swept got a new lease of life (although the set was comparatively light on those). The one or two songs I was unfamiliar with sounded fresh, and still managed to hold the crowd’s attention, despite the fact that most were ostensibly there for the hits. Predictably, Ironic — while not my favourite — got the biggest roar from the crowd, everyone belting out the chorus at the top of their lungs. But it was her voice that really blew us all away. Note-perfect, and with the virtuosity of an opera singer, she had to spend most of the performance leaning away from the microphone, as if a fusebox could be blown by her sheer vocal power. And when she hit those top notes, they cut through the soul like a knife. Despite thirty years passing since her biggest album, her voice has only got stronger.

Noticeably, she didn’t work the crowd at all. It felt like a very professional, highly polished but less personal performance than Skunk Anansie’s, but no less incredible for it. There was nothing disappointing about the show she delivered, and every moment was electric. It was also proof that you don’t need multi-million dollar special effects to create a spectacle: while the show included the lighting and visual backdrops you’d expect from an artist at that level, the focus was firmly on the music.

The set ended with a perfect encore: Uninvited is my favourite Alanis song, a slow-burner that builds to a devastating climax and shows off her unbelievable vocal range. Paired with Thank You, it was a fitting end. All the things I have to be thankful for — the love of my family and friends, the beautiful setting, the ability to immerse myself in the creative energy of this unforgettable moment — felt encapsulated in those words and that voice, and I was so grateful to be able to take a break from normal life and share it with such a good friend. I left hoping that we don’t leave it too soon before the next gig together, whilst knowing that nothing could possibly top this one.