Hundreds of steps lead to our position, a concise visual icon of contrapuntal activity leading to vertical arrangement, voice set on voice set on voice in the elegant harmonies of Little May.
The initial scene is familiar, its spectacle predictable, but within the temporary and autonomous channel the three women create, a portal is achieved. Through it walks, of all things, a performance artist in the skin of an extraterrestrial cannibal feline.
Over the course of two songs, the charm exhibited is an easy one to succumb to, wholly and comfortably. These women, at the end of their first excursion outside of an antipodean latitude and principally unaware of the impediments to attention surrounding them, easily won hearts that afternoon and so effortlessly gave substance to the ephemeral qualities brought to the air by the tired end of a long season.