Judging by the security barriers, cowboy boots, soggy stetsons and harried security outside this neighbourhood boozer, it’s not just another Saturday at The Shacklewell Arms. Last night the 200-capacity Dalston pub hosted Irish garage-punk band Sprints. A few days before that, up-and-coming DIY Australian folkies Any Young Mechanic.
This rainy evening’s turn, though, has sold 100 million albums and is the best-selling country-pop artist of all time. Her last London show was headlining BST Hyde Park in summer 2024. She’s warming up for her next London gig, six days hence: the start of a 12-date stand supporting Harry Styles at Wembley Stadium in front of 90,000 fans nightly.
So, yeah and indeed yee-haw: it’s fair to say that Shania Twain is downsizing by playing this vibey but, well, grimy East London grassroots venue. But slumming it? Hells no: this is the kind of bar in which the 60-year-old Canadian superstar started her career at the ripe young age of eight – and chaotic gigs like this are the wellspring of the distant but cherished memories that have animated her back-to-basics, upcoming seventh album, Little Miss Twain.
So, Shania at the Shacklewell is more than just a stunt – although it undoubtedly, brilliantly is that, too. It’s her chance to celebrate the gritty country rock and blues that formed her, as encapsulated in her gnarly new single Dirty Rosie.
That song gets an airing first tonight, with Twain and her four-fifths female band letting rip in front of an adoring, already drenched crowd that can’t quite believe they’re seeing one of the biggest artists in the world playing a sweaty backroom. Man, I feel like a lottery-winner.
Twain is here, as she beamingly puts it, “reliving some of my youth”. Pulling up a stool and strapping on an acoustic guitar, she recalls her teenage self’s nights in front of tough crowds 52 years ago before playing Come on Over, the title track of 1997’s 40 million-selling third album.
Clearly enjoying this journey into a pre-fame wormhole, she paints a picture of her pre-adolescent self “singing in bars exactly like this”, which beggars belief (and the attention of social services). Different times and all that.
Twain, though, clearly was always was a different kind of precocious talent, a 10-year-old singer and guitarist with 100 covers in her repertoire. By way of introducing her version of ‘The Gambler, she tells us about the heartthrob on her teenage bedroom wall, “one of my gods”, beardy Kenny Rogers.
Then, it’s on to those original creations teenage Shania was desperate to foreground. ‘You’re Still the One’ sprouts a forest of phones. ‘That Don’t Impress Me Much’ catalyses a lusty singalong. Then, after 60 minutes and reminisces aplenty - not to mention multiple plugs for Little Miss Twain - she ends with a romp through Cotton Eye Joe, which brings the hoedown to Hackney.
Next stop, Wembley. Harry will have to go some to top this.
