Forget objectivity. This is a love letter to Barry Adamson. Tonight, Adamson unleashed the lot of what is charismatic and compelling about him and his music. But mention of his curious support, hand-picked by Adamson himself, must be founded first. Cougar Flashy, a peculiar American living in Melbourne, and in his own idiosyncratic world, opened his one-man show with a short, simple song accompanied only by handclapping, followed by a short, simple guitar song about a bird he never saw.
The structure of each song went something like this: verse/chorus – or maybe not/verse/abrupt finish. The sound guys are chuckling, the overall reception is mixed and we wait for his show to evolve. Only it doesn’t. But his performance is raw, poised by a quiet Americana drawl. There’s also something of the smart aleck about him, not to mention his bravery for setting us up like this. Accompanied by the static and very odd presence of his own personal spirit conjurer, he also fits nicely in the ‘bewildering’ category. In a way, I thought he was hilarious. By the end of the twenty minute set, he won most over, if not by giving new meaning to lo-fi, then by stark honesty.
For a musician who brought out his first solo album in 1989, this is Barry Adamson’s first tour to Australia. Former member of Magazine and Nick Cave’s Bad Seeds, he lets loose his signature dark, poetic imagination and runs wild with all sorts of nods to jazz, experimental, alternative and Motown. Live, he accentuates what is a great gift in fleshing out a classic, big band sound of 1950s noir, grounded deep in narrative and within a visual landscape. Slinking out with a seven-piece band, who compliments him in very fine attire, he arouses emotion practically at once. He begins with an unfamiliar rap number but then launches into the style we all know him for with the pop jive of Spend A Little Time.
He demonstrates the versatility of his work from an impressive back catalogue, such as The Shadow of Death Hotel (Sydney-inspired) and the trepidation of Jazz Devil, to the more orchestral pop sounds of Straight ‘til Sunrise and Walk on Fire off his latest, more commercial work Back to the Cat. It was unfortunate none of his songs from the terrific Lost Highway soundtrack were played – something he is so well renowned and admired for – and it was disappointing that this spectacle was marked by an average light show compared to what everyone was witnessing. But really, who cares? Everyone was too busy noticing that modesty is not a key characteristic of Adamson, as he playfully acted up to the many cameras and puckered his lips better than Monroe.
By half time I felt beset by privilege watching a man swoon in seductive action. While I was thinking that he knew how to pull out all the stops of an intense and vibrant show, I also contemplated the purchase of Barry Adamson Back to the Cat underwear on sale, lined up next to the CDs, as a keepsake. Barry can dance and groove in a dramatic, charming, and sometimes funny way, and is one of the sexiest tambourine shakers I think we ever did see. But you know, not all of it is about sexing it up. This is a man who can soften the sound, tenderise the mood or belt it straight out and get political. Behind him, the rhythmic unity of the band was flawless. The highlights were the lounge keyboard sounds that fed us with madly trickled semi quavers, and the treble jazz trumpet and saxophone that soared and intertwined with each other in equal parts of sass and flair.
The encore, like four double shots of whiskey through my veins, rolled out the number that initially sparked it all for me – picture the 1990s, living hand to mouth in Berlin, a seedy afternoon, watching MTV Europe and an insouciant Nick Cave as guest programmer introducing The Man With A Golden Arm. If you want a preface to Adamson’s work, this song is by far the best forte to hear his heavy flirtation with suspense, noir and the feeling of smoky jazz clubs at the perilous hour of closing time. Jazz devil, indeed.
