Thursday, March 13   9:00 p.m.
The Rio   (301 San Jacinto Blvd)

N O T E S F R O M A B I O G R A P H E R

Florence is a twenty one year-old art college drop-out from Camberwell, South London, a long pretty pale girl who makes up songs and sings them. The Machine is whoever’s standing nearby playing an instrument at the time. It’s a bit harder to define, the machine part. It’s just not exactly a person. It’s a sort of a machine. She’s been singing since pretty much forever. She was in the school choir, a few dodgy bands, had vocal lessons and such. She has all the necessary paperwork if you want to see it.

If you see her sing live you’ll forget paperwork and forget your name and maybe forget to breathe for a little while. Florence has a voice hewn from the rock and stamped in the gravel and shot out of a cannon into the middle of your chest. It cuts right into you and thrums. She also has almost as much stage presence as Hitler. She’s like a funny sexy popstar Hitler without the despotism and with more beautiful songs and the utmost love and respect for Jews and gays and gypsies.

Arthur Rimbaudner, 2008