Florence and The Machine, St John at Hackney Church, gig review: Welch gives less and it suits her well

Such an approach is at odds with the more-is-even-more attitude to everything

As anyone even faintly acquainted with Florence and The Machine can attest - and at the last count there was one family in Timbuktu yet to be exposed to "You’ve Got the Love" - restraint is not a word commonly aimed in their direction. Florence Welch does big. And when big isn’t big enough, Welch does bigger: overblown, operatic pop songs of heartbreak and Greek mythology, all set to landscapes sky high and ocean deep.

So to see Welch in the intimate setting of St John at Hackney Church is quite the revelation, and not just because as she sings an uncharacteristically slight "St Jude", invoking the patron saint of lost causes, her oft-used religious imagery finally meets its maker. Here, for the lucky few at this War Child charity show for whom the whites of Welch’s eyes alone provides a thrill, Florence’s Machine is at half-throttle for a special semi-acoustic outing.

Such an approach is at odds with the more-is-even-more attitude to everything - vocals, arrangements, visuals, costume - that has proved spectacularly successful, landing Welch number one albums on both sides of the Atlantic and a triumphant last-minute headline performance at last year’s Glastonbury.

Yet to perform songs normally propelled upwards by their own bombast and strip them of the elements that make them suitable for vast spaces provides a conundrum - not least concerning Welch’s notorious wail which, whatever you think of it, rubs awkwardly against exposure.

And with the lack of space onstage leaving Welch, chatting throughout about everything from her wild days of excess to the time her grandmother visited her in a dream, unable to partake in her usual free-flowing Stevie Nicks dramatics, the onus is on that voice more so than ever.

Thankfully, with the unheralded Machine showing a deftness of touch to rework songs befitting the occasion, Welch mostly reins in the histrionics. There are still wince-inducing moments: she attacks the a cappella beginning of "Drumming Song" with unnecessary gale force ferocity, as if taking the lyrics “louder than sirens, louder than bells” as a personal challenge. Similarly, "Queen of Peace’s" beautiful trumpet flecks are trampled over by vocal acrobatics that are simply too overbearing.

Things work much better when she dials it down. "Opener Cosmic Love", forgoing its pounding drums, is startling in its fragility, with Welch static, lost in the moment; while "What Kind of Man", shorn of its stomp, is given a fantastic brooding makeover.

Some songs prove too passive as the mid-section sags, but for every Caught there is a compensating hit, the impact of which aren’t lessened in the circumstances. "Shake it Out", for which the crowd act as Welch’s choir, is so joyous the priest might well have taken notes.

"Dog Days Are Over", euphoric even when muted, concludes the set, during which Welch, to her obvious delight, is showered with gifts from the crowd. There is no encore, despite the lengthy cries for one. For once, Welch is giving less, and it suits her well.