Tonight, I saw Celeste. Accompanied by only four musicians, she scuttled on to the stage in something akin to a child’s knee-length princess gown, though stained by smoke and nicotine; symbolic of the loss of innocence and naivety that we all go through as we plunge into the darkness that we call being grown up. There was no pretence, no inhabiting any character. She bore her soul as though naked ...

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