Welcome back to Almost Famous, where we select an artist we deem to be on the verge of spreading beyond our illustrious tastemaking boundaries and taking over the cultural zeitgeist at large in the coming months.
Slightly mad and wholly irresistible, flame-haired singer Florence Welch first nudged her way into my music-addled mind via a demo spun on BBC Radio 6 Music, the alternative digital station, around late 2007 (perhaps it was a cover of Beirut’s “Postcards From Italy”). At South By Southwest that March, I arrived early for BBC deejay Steve Lamacq’s terrific showcase at the Mexican restaurant Rio, where MGMT, Florence and the Machine, Wild Light and the now-belated I Was A Cub Scout held court.

MGMT might have had the Austin buzz, but Welch stole the show, slyly armed with her ferocious voice, plaintive delivery and daft on-stage persona. Barefoot and dressed in a diminutive frock, she gleefully channeled Zelda Fitzgerald, and mid-set, galloped to Rio’s ornamental pool and dived in, capriciously pulling in a friend after her. She emerged dripping wet and then, daring electrocution, strode back to the mic and finished her set. It was a magnificent moment of insane bravado.
Later that month I wrote about Florence’s infinite promise as part of a feature on fast-rising chanteuse Adele (for a jazz magazine, of all things), prodded another publication onto her path and then waited, spending the rest of the year wondering what South London’s Welch had up her sleeve and when she’d finally release a debut album (not yet).
















TOPICS: Almost Famous, HeinzOnHovis