It’s a warm Wednesday evening, and the air carries the kind of laid-back energy that makes a midweek show feel like a quiet reward.
The Cube Microplex is one of Bristol’s original spots and a true hidden gem. It’s a volunteer-run, non-profit arts space tucked into Kingsdown’s Princess Row, in a building that dates back to 1880. Founded in 1998 by a group of artists looking to establish a homebase for independent film and performance, the venue has been community-owned since 2004. It is kept alive by a rotating crew of around 350 volunteers.
Support comes from Eva Penney, an artist I’d caught a couple of months prior at The Jam Jar where she opened for Breakfast Records’ Langkamer. Her set is a loose, charming affair—half banter, half song play, threaded together while she fiddles with pedals and chases the right tuning.
The Cube’s 108-seat auditorium—cinema screen intact—lends everything a cinephile’s hush. The cinematic environment has a way of commanding attention without demanding it. As the room falls into a natural silence, Eva’s unhurried approach fits the mood perfectly. A clutch of actual songs emerge from the warmth, and that feels like enough.
The main event is Book of Churches, the new solo project from Felix of Northampton outfit Divorce. Armed with just two acoustic guitars, the spare setup proves to be a natural home for his intimate tracks. It’s the sound of Divorce’s quieter moments, stripped of any indie-leaning bombast. All the better for it in this setting.
Given the fragility of his songwriting on record, no one anticipates how good Felix is with a crowd. His banter is warm and frequent. As the set begins, latecomers trickle in, each new arrival swinging open the door. Felix leaned into it, strumming the same chord on a loop, deadpan, until the last straggler had found their seat. This also highlighted something particular about the Cube. The setup demands collective patience, the type you don’t often get at a gig. Like a theatre performance, you sit and shut up.
On stage, Felix talks about his history with Bristol—the good, the bad, and how the economy eventually forced him out. He plays through the entirety of his self-titled debut. But what made the evening truly special is the space itself. That quiet, intimate setting meant you could actually hear the backstories behind the songs and the acoustics in general.
There was no distance between him and the crowd. No performance affectation, just a musician and a room full of people listening. With an album this new and a group this fresh, you witness naturalistic songs played exactly as intended. Highlights include “The Quiet Was a Heron,” which Felix introduces with a slightly unhinged backstory involving bones, and the deceptively catchy “Song of a Stranger,” the album’s lead single.
I’ve seen Divorce perform in sweaty boxes, festival stages, and tents, but there is something special about seeing one of the band’s main songwriting forces this close and unguarded. The songs don’t need the room to be big. If anything, they prefer it small.
Placed back to back, Penney and Felix created something genuinely refreshing: a laid-back show that felt like a moment of quiet reflection in a world that desperately needs one. Twenty-four-hour news cycles, endless noise, the constant churn—it all fades away in a room like this. And it’s a reminder that real power doesn’t need to be loud. An acoustic guitar and a fearless song can hold just as much weight as any festival roar. Maybe more.