Rickie Lee Jones @ The Tivoli,Brisbane (31/05/2010)

Tue 8th Jun, 2010 in Gig Reviews

In all honesty, I’ve never seen The Tivoli bestowed with as much reverential, almost religious atmosphere as tonight. It’s a sit-down show – certainly something not a lot of younger gig-goers are used to – and the crowd predominantly consists of greying baby-boomers, often along with their kids. This chilly Monday night, people have come here to worship at the altar of Song.

Long-praised as the original “boho chick” songstress and a possessor of a singular lyrical and vocal talent, Rickie-Lee Jones walks on to massed whoops, straps on an acoustic guitar and announces she’ll do some “instrumental” stuff while the still-standing punters are finding their seats. Right on cue, she begins plucking out an intro which then segues into a gripping, A minor-key song, the immediately recognisable voice as spellbinding as it was thirty-one years ago on her self-titled debut album – only maybe more mature, like old wine. The next two numbers are just as magical.

Never a conventional singer-songwriter by any means, Jones’ two backing musicians are just as unorthodox in their approach: the bass player uses his instrument to create haunting, effects-augmented melody lines, rhytmic loops and whole song arrangements while the burly, kilt-wearing drummer displays total professionalism as he periodically shifts to piano and keyboard. When it comes to the chanteuse herself changing instruments, Rickie-Lee is as confident on her white Fender Stratocaster as she is on the acoustic, the piano, and the drumkit, using chorus and slight overdrive to create extra sonic spaciousness. The music itself, of course, builds itself on pure emotion and poeticism of Jones’ delivery, be it a jazzy touch here, a folk vignette there… and it’s absolutely impossible to resist.

Kicking off her high-heels before she sits at the piano, she morphs into the Rickie-Lee Jones of her early days. From 1981’s Pirates, the title track swings merrily while the plaintive ex-boyfriend dedication (in Jones’ case, Tom Waits, with whom she had an acrimonious falling-out soon after her breakthrough) Lucky Guy sees some audience members being reduced to tears. Altar Boy – the one with the line “a monk with a hard-on in a lavender robe” – has the breathless crowd hanging on to every word and one audibly overexcited fellow exclaims “You’re teasing!” as she extends Coolsville’s coda with gritty, sensual vocal stylings. These are serious bohemian delights she’s singing about, us listening in sheer wonderment as her chameleonic voice changes from soft warble to a low, growling contralto in seconds’ time.

After admitting that she’s lucky to tour Australia every 15 years, Jones unexpectedly says she’ll play her first – and biggest – hit, Chuck E.’s In Love, which proceeds to induce collective finger-snapping with its shuffling beat and catchy chorus. She then concludes with Bonfire from her new album Balm Of Gilead, a simple, heart-tugging acoustic song documenting the end of a twelve-year relationship, takes a bow along with her rhythm section and retreats backstage. No encore follows, despite the massed “More!” shouts – the Mayoress Of Coolsville has sung it all.