Read & Shout Festival, West Norwood Library, London

Ostensibly we’re here for books, for libraries, to make a stand against the short-sighted priorities of Government cuts. In reality, of course, we’re here for Swedish sweetheart Jens Lekman, but before eyelids start fluttering in his direction let’s state some bleedin’ obvious: Libraries, regardless of your own personal use of them, are an invaluable resource. Literacy levels plummeting? Phrases like ‘dumbing-down’ becoming the accepted norm? It’s a situation so misguided that it’s almost laughable an event like this even needs to exist. It’s a scandal, but we’ll leave it there and follow the example of this delightful festival where there’s no preaching. There’s no need, because we’re the converted.

Hats must come off to Matt Stead for organising Read and Shout though, hats off for making a stand. Who knows if it will or can change anything, but how much better to do something than to do nothing? If you don’t make a noise then nobody is ever going to listen. And man, what a great noise was made.
Combining the bookish world of the indiepop twee side with libraries is utterly natural, even catering to the indieboy’s fantasy about that idealised librarian girl. Well chaps, not only do some of the girls here look the part but a few of them actually are the real thing. Let the party commence huh?. Or, alternatively, sit cross-legged on the floor throughout almost every act. Why this inertia? Why this refusal to participate, to be part of the event? Every band asks the crowd to stand, and they do for one song. And then sit back down again. It’s pretty lame and, worse, it’s kind of rude and everyone knows rude doesn‘t rule. It’s just a shame because it keeps the atmosphere slightly muted when you can see in the bands’ eyes that they just want some interaction, when you can feel the day itching to just get going. But forget that, it’s not a deal-breaker, it’s not even close; this is a wonderful event and everyone here does seem genuinely lovely. Just dance more please. It’s better for your circulation. And librarians love it. Promise.

Darren Hayman, resplendent in tweed and infused with sophisticated, witty rhetoric comes closest to breaking the ice that the likes of The Sweet Nothings, despite being both definitely sweet and not even slightly nothing, can’t quite crack, even with a song that features a tooting train horn. He’s blessed with that charisma that sets natural performers apart, you can’t fake it and you can’t make it, it’s just there. He says sensible things about libraries, he sings songs that feature libraries, he charms our cardigans ragged and then reappears later, ukuleled up, with the adorable Little Orchestra for a sumptuous run through ‘She’s Out Of My League’.

Jens Lekman though? Oh my days. Swoon. That we think this is amazing is one thing, but watching Jens’ reaction sends shivers down the spine. He seems to love tonight, seems to soak up the adoration and mirrors it straight back at us. He sings and dances that colossal beating heart out and, in a moment of unconfined rapture, runs around with arms spread out like an aeroplane, as if he’s a child that‘s exhausted any other way to express joy. We might not do the aeroplane dance, but we’re not far behind and if there was a bit more room, well…

New songs are introduced which revolve around hilariously rubbish attempts to stalk Kirsten Dunst in Gothenburg, Nate Dogg is remembered at the same time as Regulate with Warren G during a ecstatic run through ’A Sweet Summers Night On Hammer Hill’, and now everyone’s dancing, now the room is heaving in response to Jens’ limitless enthusiasm and we don’t stop, the atmosphere is celebratory, jubilant and more than just a little bit special. ‘Opposite of Hallelujah’ and ‘Sipping On The Sweet Nectar’ keep the party going through encores one and two (you’ll have to forgive running order inaccuracies, this ain’t a note-making kind of night) but there’s no chance he’s getting away yet. An almighty roar forces encore three; a thumping romp through ‘Pocketful Of Money’. During the chorus Jens Lekman gets to be Jens Lekman, which seems fair, and we get to respond with Calvin Johnson’s gravely echo, which is an honour, and easy, because our hearts are utterly on fire and we’d come running without thinking.

And then we cheer, we whoop and we holler but he doesn’t come back and we’re left with that feeling that defines the truly magical shows; the vague emptiness and stumbling disbelief it’s over mixed up with the turbo-charged euphoria of having just witnessed A Moment. And this was, make no mistake, A Moment and something to be treasured. Just to state the bleedin’ obvious.