Martha Wainwright's voice brings tears to the eyes
Martha Wainwright's voice brings tears to the eyes
Martha Wainwright walks in wearing a tight, short, blood-red dress.
This is a woman who has said she sometimes hates herself onstage. Not tonight.
As fans sit around candlelit tables at this surprisingly intimate Transmission Room setting, Wainwright, 29, is a self-possessed goddess, part refined torch singer, part foul-mouthed folky.
When she breaks into the first solo, her voice is so powerful and evocative it's enough to bring you to tears.
Wainwright would rather have a laugh. Her mother, folk singer Kate McGarrigle, played here 20 years ago, and when she returned to Canada she had shaved off her long hair.
"So I've always hated New Zealand," she wisecracks, the first of many funny moments during the set. Then she is joined by bass player and keyboardist Brad and drummer Bill who looks like a slacker from an American high school comedy.
They play by Wainwright's rules. When she screws up she swears and starts again. She tunes her guitar incessantly between songs. Tim the sound guy is practically in the band.
She mumbles silly, dizzy things like she's Phoebe off Friends. She tells members of the audience off for laughing during a poignant tale of Sarajavo, a song by her father, folk singer Loudon Wainwright III.
When she sings, one leg flails uncontrollably, her head shakes, the music seems to emanate from every part of her body.
And she is absolutely awesome.
Mostly, the songs are from last year's debut album, which she is flogging after the show with three bonus tracks, by the way, one of them with her also-renowned singer brother, Rufus Wainwright.
This Life and Ball & Chain show off her vocal range and ability to draw you into her lyrics, even when she is repeating a phrase over and over. Sometimes she's stroppy (Bloody Mother [expletive] Asshole), sometimes she's vulnerable (Who Was I Kidding?, These Flowers).
Even the mistakes are good. When she abruptly abandons Ball & Chain after her guitar unplugs, the band immediately break into a bossa nova groove, Brad taking over the vocal in a mock-sexy rap.
A gag about an enthusiastic audience member ends in an impromptu duet with actress Madeleine Sami.
She finishes with a passionate French ballad - no guitar, no band, just the woman in the blood-red dress with the incredible voice.
