You probably wouldn’t immediately think of St. Leonard’s Church in Bridgnorth as a likely venue if someone were to mention a roof-raising indie-folk and blues double bill. Yet on a storm-lashed March evening, the old sandstone building in a quiet corner of Worcestershire felt less like an unlikely host and more like a well-kept secret waiting to be discovered. Passing beneath its red gothic tower, you stepped out of the wind and into something altogether different: a softly glowing, backlit space that transformed Victorian austerity into an inviting, amber-lit secret gig venue, now forever tucked into the building’s history.
This was the work of The Shirefolk, whose quietly ambitious mission to bring Americana to the Midland shires is gathering real momentum. With the pews filled and tickets long since marked “sold out”, there was a sense that something had been tapped into here; a hunger for live music in a part of the country too often overlooked by touring acts. Over the course of two days, the team had reshaped the church interior with care and imagination: a stage set neatly central within the nave, lighting rigs casting warm hues against venerable stonework, and numbered seating laid out across rows of cushioned pews. It all felt thoughtfully done rather than overworked. Stewards guided arrivals with easy friendliness, while a bar tucked into a side aisle offered not just the usual drinks but tea and homemade cakes; a welcoming and homely touch. At the front, a carved stone angel held a trumpet aloft, as if heralding the evening’s proceedings. And as the room settled into an expectant quiet, it was hard not to feel that word of what The Shirefolk are building here won’t remain a secret for long.
Eric Bibb needs little introduction as a modern-day standard-bearer for old blues, yet there was nothing remotely grandiose about his arrival. This legend was endearingly humble before the first note was played, taking care to thank the audience for coming out in the “blustery weather”. The opening solo rendition of Going Down Slow, the 1942 lament by St. Louis Jimmy, immediately transported the room. Bibb’s opening song set the stage for a spellbinding evening, one that seemed almost too good to be happening in this unassuming corner of the Midlands.
The spell only deepened when Bibb was joined onstage with his band. Drummer Paul Robinson, known for his work with Nina Simone, played with an almost devotional restraint, often using bare hands and brushes rather than sticks. Multi-instrumentalist and musical director Glen Scott slipped effortlessly between bass, keys and harmonies, while legendary guitarist Robbie McIntosh burned quietly but intensely, his playing having the audience worried that at any moment the instrument might simply ignite. With eight guitars laid out, the stage setup at times felt less like a concert and more like a hallowed altar to the blues, with every note a reverent offering. Opening with the title song from his recent album and the name of their tour, One Mississippi, the power of Bibb and the full band conjured a rich, enveloping sound. His voice sat perfectly in the mix, guiding the audience through songs that felt both deeply personal and part of a much older story.
That sense of lineage came into sharper focus as Bibb spoke of his “heroes and sheroes“, paying tribute to figures like South Carolina ragtime guitarist Reverend Gary Davis and Lead Belly. Bibb’s powerful vocals and red-hot band brought these classics bang up to date. In Bibb’s hands, these legendary blues songs carried the weight of history without ever feeling museum-bound. Between reverent moments came Bibb’s warm humour and humanity. Bibb has never been an artist to dwell solely in sorrow, despite his dedication to the blues. He noted, “Blues is not a genre known for celebrating matrimonial bliss,” before promptly doing just that with an affectionate ode to his wife. He broke into The Happiest Man in the World, a tender tribute to Ulrika Bibb: “she sweets my tea with homemade honey.” In lesser hands, such sentiment might cloy; here, it felt earned.
The audience, by now entirely under his spell, needed little encouragement to follow wherever he led. When Bibb invited his wife, Ulrika, to join him on stage, the show took on a new, intimate dimension. Calling her his “nightingale“, he shared the spotlight with Ulrika Bibb, whose soft Nordic vocals brought a delicate counterpoint to his earthy, blues-inflected sound. Their harmonies were nothing short of enchanting; palpable warmth and tenderness that felt like a secret between them and the audience. This personal performance was a moment of connection, with Mrs Bibb offering something new and unexpected across three songs before exiting stage left.
Introducing Along the Way, Eric Bibb reflected on fatherhood with a smile and said that this song included “things I wish I’d told my kids earlier… but it’s never too late to be a papa“. It was a sentiment that resonated deeply throughout the performance. With his trademark mix of wisdom and warmth, Bibb played with a quiet intensity, losing himself in the raw emotion of the song. His guitar work was nothing short of masterful, weaving rich, soulful melodies that spoke to the heart of the blues tradition. It was a performance that felt both personal and universal; one that reminded you of the timeless power of a well-crafted song.
A playful detour into Dance Me to the End of Love came with a tongue-in-cheek aside about the title being the same as a Leonard Cohen song, but that luckily you can’t be sued for writing a song with the same title. Bibb joked that luckily he had never heard from “Lenny’s lawyers“, but that he “hadn’t heard from Lenny either“.
Bibb leaned into the deeper currents of the blues to the audience’s elation. He revisited Come Back Baby, first recorded by Walter Davis in 1940, prefacing it with the rueful observation: “When a man starts hollering ‘come back baby’, it’s already too late.”
Instrumental passages took on an almost spiritual quality, one extended guitar meditation delivered with such quiet intensity that a moment of microphone feedback drew a laugh: “That was the pope objecting,” Bibb quipped, puncturing the reverence just enough to keep things grounded. “Hatred’s a luxury,” Bibb observed, his voice resolute, and in that moment the centuries-old form of the blues felt entirely present-tense.
By the time he closed with In My Father’s House, you’d have been forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled into a roaring gospel tent rather than this sleepy English church. This had been part concert, part communion; an evening where history, humanity and hope intertwined in the hands of a master storyteller. Eric Bibb effortlessly captivated the crowd with his trademark soul and storytelling, and had an absolutely magnificent band to help him on his way.
Janileigh Cohen (featuring Lucas Bernard) opened as the support act for Bibb with her way of making the room lean in. Her sound: soft, understated, and gently circling, drew the Bridgnorth audience into a shared hush from the outset. Seated centre stage alongside Lucas Bernard on guitar and harmonies, the pair created an intimate atmosphere that suited the church setting perfectly.
Cohen opened with Passing Time, a song written when she was just 17 in her grandmother’s shed. With this powerful song, her vocals and guitar, she set the emotional co-ordinates for the evening early on. There were echoes of Joni Mitchell in Cohen’s use of vocal range and melodic sensibility, an influence she proudly acknowledges, but this was no exercise in imitation. Cohen had her own unique folk sound, grown from her Bolton heritage, that filled the Bridgnorth church this evening. Proud of her northern roots, she joked that at an earlier gig on this tour, the people of Bexhill-on-Sea had been having a hard time making out what she was saying. Her self-deprecating and down-to-earth chat between songs, including the reflection that perhaps she should have worn her sheep jumper to the stage after all, only deepened the connection with the crowd.
What set Cohen apart this evening, though, was the beautiful vulnerability of her writing. Much of her new and debut album, As a Child, dwells on family, absence, and the complicated architecture of longing and belonging. The title song proved a quiet centrepiece, its lyrics, “As a child I always thought / If I’m lonely you will call“, landing with a disarming emotion that hung in the air long after the final note.
There was a deceptive ease to her delivery. The songs arrived dressed in gentle folk arrangements, but beneath that surface lay something weightier. Bridgnorth was quick to recognise it. Cohen’s approachable manner didn’t dilute the impact; it amplified it and drew you into her world before revealing its sharper edges. Pain and beauty sat side by side, settling into a pew next to the enraptured audience.
After a decade away from touring, Cohen’s return felt quietly significant. That sense of occasion carried through to the closing cover of Green Green Rocky Road, the folk standard that had the McGarrigle-loving audience softly singing along.
Cohen spoke with genuine warmth about supporting Eric Bibb on this tour, describing the experience as “life-changing” and recounting moments of meditation on the road together. This didn’t feel like idle tour talk. There was something undeniably spiritual about the evening, something that went beyond the ecclesiastical setting. As this support set drew to a close, it was clear that Janileigh Cohen’s return to the stage had rekindled something special. With a voice that carried both vulnerability and strength, she left the crowd not just entertained, but moved; a reminder of the quiet power of well-crafted folk music.
What a joy to find this midweek gig in the Midlands; I was only too delighted to have made the pilgrimage.
