Who’s heard of a non-classical gig starting at 7.30pm? No, me neither. Yet, apparently, it’s a thing and - despite my forgetting to check - I duly arrived about 10 minutes after the start of this solo tour performance. Joan as Police Woman even gently scolded myself and other latecomers. I get it; I really do.
Witnessing her in these austere surroundings is a true privilege. Having followed her journey from backing musician for Rufus Wainwright [around the time of Want One’s release], then as his support act on a subsequent tour, I’ve been entranced and seduced by her music - this rendering is exquisite in a multitude of unholy ways. Dressed in a white body suit, matched with gold necklace and hair tied back into a ponytail, Joan looks like she’s just stepped off the set of some uber cool French film set or as the guest at her own banquet. From the off, she mixes relaxed audience interactions with a tender, intense and frequently remarkable foray into her back catalogue.
The set up is simple, yet highly effective : Joan, at piano or holding her electric guitar, keeps the audience - about 800 souls, I’d reckon - in raptures throughout her two part set, plus encore. The directness of ‘Tell Me’ [‘tell me, tell me, tell me / tell me what you want / need’] fits perfectly with this stripped back sound, all vulnerabilities exposed. Addictive, faintly exotic rhythms glisten then blister, the chords playing call and response with each other. Vocals cascade over descending notes, propelling forward these masterful torch songs. Notes are held, almost infinitesimal, moving from a whisper to a moan, then an entreaty.
Joan flits between older and newer material, the title track from her new album ‘Lemons, Limes and Orchids’ being a particular highlight. Centring around imagery of a recently born giraffe calf wrestling with a fear of cheetahs, the action skips to West Manhattan about which Joan intones lovingly in a refrain that locks you in like some dark magic. The overall effect is sublime. Moving forward with subtle ferocity into a frenetic, slightly unhinged chorus of ‘Oh Joan, what is there to be done?’ she adopts different voices in varying tones, the emotions seemingly divisive, her delivery fiercely committed. In some ways, as an audience member, you are transported and transformed by such a beguiling spectacle, as it unfolds, luxuriantly. Song segues into discordancy and intoning (‘they’ll eat the bread of sorrow’), like distressed chamber music.
Earlier song ‘Christabel’ is maximalist, burning with passion and adoration in equal measure. Joan starts to ululate, her voice mellifluous - in the company of St. George’s (a repurposed church), the atmosphere envelops a spiritual incandescence. A Joan of Arc -after whom she was named - composition repeats the chorus ‘Girl, you are the chosen one / you’ll make history.’ This time, guitar chords are clipped back, a faint whiff of protest in the air. She’s always ‘looking for the magic’ and, by the time she reaches the longing crescendo of ‘Real Life’, moving back and forth between rich, evocative emotions, almost on the verge of collapse ; you realise she is an existential specialist, whilst all around the breathless, accompanying hush causes numerous pins to drop. Breathe in, breathe out - exhale.
Joan as Police Woman is a force of nature and her songs ring monolithic. Like I said - a pleasure and a rare privilege. Preserve genius and dare to reserve judgement.
Review by Hugh Ogilvie