Grace Jones @ The Palais,Melbourne (14/04/2011)

Fri 15th Apr, 2011 in Gig Reviews

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the delay, the auditorium doors will be opened as soon as Ms Jones has finished her soundcheck.”

Better late than never, as many people will tell you, with or without reference to how they were on Letterman, twice . Once everyone was in, it was an hour after the due time before our beings were at last graced with her presence. But by the end of the night – boy, were we Graced.

Filling in that time were the incessant pelvic thrusts of DJ Andy from Sydney, blazing through a set of classic disco hits. Replete with many of the thumpin’est basslines in history, it was a well-weighted starter, traversing disco epochs from Blondie to Blind . The crowd was all hoots and claps by the time the set was over. The time had come – it was Grace time.

Sideways flew the curtains and to a crowd in wild raptures, the first beat dropped. It was This is, the leading track from her most recent album Hurricane, also the basis for this tour. As with most of the new tracks she performed, the electronics were pounding and intense, coming to life live. Remember that, it might be the last thing said about the music…

The first costume to entrance us was a streaming shower of reflective silver, like liquid, a single piece draping her entire self. Grace was underneath, making the silver move in waves about her; at the crashing end of the song, she flung it off, and there she was, what we’d been anticipating with some kind of fervour – Ms Grace Jones.

In zebra garb now, with a crazy mane of white and a crazy headdress too, she tore into William’s Blood and then the first 20th century track of the night, Past Lives (off Warm Leatherette). The energy coursing through that body, only to increase in its intensity throughout the night, pouring out in that quite-incredible voice, could be taken for a 20-year-old’s. She is 62.

She’s a show-stopper in herself – that the costumes nigh on stole the show says something about how brilliant they were. There was the devil outfit with dramatic dangling tentacles, and the stage-spanning, fan-swept billow for title track Hurricane. The Jamaican special of beads, bright colours and barely-concealed boobs, then the fibreglass black-and-red boob-case peacock outfit thing. Special word must be held for the silver-glitter costume, sending phosphorescent transcendent rainbows sparkling through the beautiful Palais. Lastly, the crowd favourite, to judge by the riotous applause it received, there was the flame-red explosion of a dress that turned round to reveal the muscular and fully naked back and behind of Ms Grace Jones.

Also entertaining was her unusually crazy-aunty banter during the show, running through a range of stories about having a granddaughter (So white, apparently, “You’d swear she was Queen Elizabeth the second”), flying first-class and mile-high club, getting pissed at the airport, all during regular sips of what looked like red wine – through a straw, “so I don’t mess up my lipstick.” It was pretty hilarious, but there was always a warm sense of friendliness there which kept things genuine and grounded (well, kind of). One recurring theme was ,“It’s your party,” and to this end we heard every hit of her catalogue; from Love you to Life to Love is a Drug, Libertango to the unstoppable double whammy of Pull up to the Bumper and Slave to the Rhythm. The last of these finished the set, in an extended, pummelling finale that drew Jones to what looked like the very end of her awing energy. By that stage, everyone was up in their seats, clapping and dancing along, having an brilliant time.

Though she may have shown her age in the very last moments of her show – “Let me introduce the band!... ... ... Um, havin’ a mental blank here!” – this show was a testament to the enduring prowess of one of the most entertaining people the world has ever witnessed.