Some singers just sing, you know, they open their mouths and out comes this quite acceptable noise that is just singing. Others open their mouths to release all the flavours, smells, passions, joys and heartbreaks of life, their voices soaring, lifting us with them to those heady heights where music becomes life affirming, so much more than a nice tune and something to tap your feet to. Include MARTHA WAINWRIGHT in this latter group for when she sings it is totally captivating, both earthy and heavenly, pure of soul but soiled by life’s reality.
Tonight, Manchester’s Academy 3 is sold out, the house lights have been down for at least 10 minutes and there is a palpable buzz snaking through the crowd. When she finally appears, on her own, a tremendous cheer rings out to which she responds with an uncertain smile, a shake of her hair, some nervous tuning and her first song which has such power, presence and bravery that the excited audience is reduced to heart-stopping silence.
And, from that moment on, she has us in the palm of her hands.
When the band – drums, guitar and bass - join her for the second number (and I’m sorry, some titles evade me not being, prior to the gig, overly familiar with her material) you quickly realise that this is set to be a pretty special night. They immediately lock into a groove that is insistent and edgy, a hint of country, a rock dynamic and perfect in that it provides her voice with a sensitive accompaniment that is firm and reliable, never trying to compete but remaining steadfast, a haven to which her voice can return after it’s more heavenly excursions.
At times she reminds me of Patti Smith but with less pretension, she is nothing if not very ‘real’. Her whole physical presence seems like a mass of contradictions. Between songs she appears slightly clumsy and ungainly while, mid-song she displays incredible control and grace. When the tempo picks up, for example on the wonderful ‘Bloody Motherfucking Asshole’ (a less than tender commentary on her Dad’s - Loudon Wainwright – skewed sense of parental responsibility) her movements become sensuous and primitive like she’s wired through to receive every swish and sway, hop and bop and electrical pulse and pop that the music contains. She can look young and confident one minute, a simmering ‘rock chick’ with the world at her feet, and then for a fleeting second or two her features look older, troubled and vulnerable. And I guess it is all this that helps make her music so special.
There’s a whole host of songs on offer tonight, some from her current, eponymously titled album, some from earlier releases and some thrilling covers. There are regret soaked ballads like ‘This Life’ and ‘Far Away’ (“I have no children/ I have no husband/ I have no reason to be alive/ Oh, give me one”), songs dashed through with a glorious pop sensibility, for example, ‘Factory’ that glides along supported by almost ‘girly’ backing vocals provided by the very male band, and bitter-sweet rockers like ‘Ball And Chain’ “I heard she could read and write too/ and has a degree in fucking you”.
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Mid-set the band exit the stage leaving Martha once again on her own to perform three totally stunning tunes with vocals that at times call to mind Liz Fraser of The Cocteau Twins but ‘meatier’, less ethereal. One of said tunes, introduced as by “one of the greatest songwriters around” turns out to be Leonard Cohen’s ‘Tower Of Song’, which receives a suitably ‘towering’ performance.
Now, tonight turns out to be Martha’s birthday so, when the band return they do so armed with a bottle of champagne (from her mum Kate McGarrigle) giving the delighted crowd the opportunity to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her. A voice from the crowd shouts out “Where’s the party, Martha” to which she replies “This is the party darlin’” - never a truer word spoken! And, when they’re all done and back to what they’re really here for, they turn out a second half every bit as gripping as the first (and, despite an on-stage electronic buzz that briefly threatens to throw her concentration), a highlight of which is when she’s joined on stage by Neal Casal for a rip-snorting run through Warren Zevon’s ‘I Was In The House When The House Burned Down’.
Just one set of encores, another slow- burner that tells of regret at losing friends and gaining enemies, an awesome version of The Stones’ ‘Street Fighting Man’ and finally, accompanied only by her guitarist, a popular Parisian torch song performed in perfect French (sounds good to me anyway!). A brave and somehow appropriate end to a set packed full of passion, power, grit and charm. Bloody brilliant!!!
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