Alex Clare: Defying Genre and Expectation
by KATHARINE SCHWAB
When listening to Alex Clare’s The Lateness of the Hour on repeat for the past several months, I pictured Clare as dark, handsome, and brooding, a man whose soul poured like liquid from his throat. When I arrived at the Regency Ballroom on April 23rd for his concert, Clare turned out to be a rather short British redhead, complete with full beard and knitted beret, with an endearing awkwardness and a smile only slightly less jolly than Santa Claus.
