Live review: Matilda Mann weaves bittersweet spell across Pennines in Manchester

As the Londoner trekked up north for the debut of her Kismet tour, backed by flowy patterned drapes and slow-swaying anthems, Manchester’s Academy 2 were treated to front-row seats of pure stirring songcraft.

In an era where indie-pop often trades in for loud, algorithmic tricks, Mann operated on purely disarming, with some old-school charm.

Equipped with songs that feel like stolen diary entries written for normal hearts and stage banter sharp enough to hold a comedy club hostage – her arrival at Manchester Academy 2 felt less like a standard touring show and more like a warm, intimate secret shared among friends.

Before the headliner even took to the Mancunian stage, support act Sophie May set the tone intricately with a warm, self-deprecating masterclass in folk-pop storytelling.

Armed with gentle swaying anthems akin to tonight’s headliner and slow-swaying songs tailored for normal, everyday heartbreak or, quite frankly, any upcoming Paul Mescal project needing a devastating soundtrack, she disarmed the room instantly.

Her track Greek Statue was introduced as a personal, detailed hymn dedicated to a man of her past who possessed the sculpted jawline of a classical 70s model and the petty disposition to match.

Between hushed melodies, May dropped one of the most absurd music-industry tales Manchester Academy 2 has probably heard all year.

She explained how she was pitched to write a '60s-inspired track about parents terrifyingly watching their daughter grow up.

Co-written alongside two collaborators, they were convinced the production was absolute gold; until the track was abruptly halted.

The crime? Including the word "makeup", an accessory deemed historically and biologically inaccurate for a chicken.

The project, it turned out, was Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget, and the poultry executives at Aardman unfortunately pulled the plug on a touching number that would’ve suited a number of evocative films.

Unfazed by British-Hollywood bureaucracy, she later seamlessly stumbled through No More Birthdays, completely forgetting the chorus before impeccably rescuing the moment with a couple of sweet, improvised hums that won over every heart in the room.

When Matilda Mann strolled onto the Academy 2 stage a suspiciously modest few minutes late tonight, no one was expecting what came next.

As, exactly halfway through her opening track, Chain Reaction, the venue’s audio divinities decided to pull the plug entirely.

Most artists would crumble or retreat into awkward green-room hiding.

Mann? She simply took a deep breath, projected her voice into the rafters without the use of a mic, and cheerfully informed the room to pretend none of this ever happened before ducking off for five.

When she and her band return moments later, the tech demons had officially spent their last token, as fortunately this moment hadn’t caused a chain reaction within her sweetly reminiscent set.

From that exact second onwards, it was complete smooth sailing into one of the most tender, enchanting performances this room has hosted all year.

Flanked by some wonderful stage design featuring a gorgeous, cascading white flowy drape that looked like it was yanked straight from the wardrobe of peak-era Joni Mitchell, Mann traded stadium-sized bluster for pure, undiluted intimacy.

The evening followed on with the emphatic thumping track of Say It Back, which set an immediate tone, with some slow swaying anthems tailored in close proximity to a few with a little more venom and tempo in their bite.

These were the kind of gorgeous, melancholic acoustic-pop vignettes that feel tailor-made for shows of Normal People or Fleabag’s stature, or, frankly, any moody cinematic project desperate for an emotional anchoring.

Mann’s dreamlike setlist rolled on like a nostalgic summer breeze, as older tracks were sandwiched neatly between the modern releases from her 26’ release, Kismet as Imagine That Now, Paper Mache World, and Call You From the Car, which were all lightly presented upon the awestruck audience.

Yet there’s a comforting, lived-in vulnerability to her vocals, punctuated by humanising moments where, prior to some of her compositions, she delved into the intricacies of her lyrics, creating these bittersweet moments of cherished snippets and life lessons between each closing of the lights above.

The mid-set sequence of Doomsday, Bittersweet, and Just Because showcased her knack for hushed, cosy storytelling, all prior to Fig Tree, where Mann and her band bloomed under the soft lighting. Stripping things down further, a breathtaking acoustic rendition of The Day That I Met You left the stunned Academy 2 pin-drop silent.

Following on, another live debut arrived with Lovely before the evening glided gracefully toward the finish line with Forever and a Day, Haunt Me, and After The Love, eventually closing out on the delicate, shimmering notes of Inventing.

Tonight proved that when the gear fails, true artistry steps up. Matilda Mann was able to salvage an uncontrolled, messy start; and transformed a Mancunian technical glitch into a masterclass in charm and storytelling.