Dada Noir

In between songs, Patti Plinko knocks over her mic-stand, and a sudden crash rings around the small basement cabaret bar. Clutching her glass protectively she lets out a laugh; “it missed my whisky, that's the main thing!”.

In the deep, dark bowels of the Carlton Hotel lurks a small run-down, grimey bar. The lights are low and its few customers are slumped over their drinks. On its small stage is a slightly built woman with jet black hair, who has a voice like Nina Simone and a penchant for wild ukulele. She's accompanied by 'her boy', who says not a word, he's wearing a gas mask remember, but accompanies her beautifully on guitar. His fraught, percussive style of playing combines with Plinko's soaring voice to create music which is part gothic, part chamber pop and at times vaguely unsettling. Laconic versions of Tom Waits songs fit comfortably next to their own striking compositions in their set-list. If only all gigs could be like this.

Her boy, dressed in a black boiler suit and gas mask, with an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, silently hops from one foot to the other. He's obviously itching to begin the next number. Plinko carefully puts down her ukulele, and begins to seductively whisper the opening lines of Leadbelly's 'In The Pines (Where Did You Sleep Last Night)'. What follows is a performance so raw, so gripping, so enthralling, that it makes Nirvana's celebrated version sound like a damp squib. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the surreal but utterly wonderful world of the Dada Noir.

It's shows like these that make the Edinburgh festival what it is. There is nothing better than wandering into a venue clearly used as a storage space the rest of the year, to find a little known performer whose sheer brilliance leaves you breathless. There were perhaps only 10 people in attendance tonight, but by the end of the Dada Noir's run every night should be packed to the rafters.