Antony And The Johnsons

Many who claim that in Antony's case the artist can't be separated from the persona have probably never seen him perform live: a shyness barely masked by experience, and an extraordinary focus on his grand piano and his distinctive vocal delivery.

Let the music, then, take centre stage, preceded only by the now-customary quarter-hour dance performance that fills the wait for Antony and the band's entrance with the symbolism of a macabre, apocalyptic ritual, drawing the audience's attention and channelling it into existential reflection, and finally into the pure, direct essence of the music.

And the music begins with piano notes played in near-total darkness, in which the strings can just be glimpsed in the foreground and the rhythm section in the background, while the voice intoning "Where Is My Power" seems to come from another world entirely — an impalpable presence that turns into warm substance, resonating among the wood panelling of the Sala Santa Cecilia, an environment as always perfect for experiencing live music.

As if to stage the "crying light" of his most recent work, a faint glow opens up from the darkness, letting us make out the artist's silhouette at the piano as he intones the recognisable opening of "Her Eyes Are Underneath The Ground". It's the prelude to the triptych drawn from "The Crying Light", continuing with "Epilepsy Is Dancing" and "One Dove", rendered with a low-key expressiveness and airy yet extremely measured arrangements, in which the romanticism of the strings (violin and cello, occasionally joined by a second violin) heightens the songs' touching intensity, alternating only with the warm languor of a spanish guitar and jazzier touches on the sax.

Everything works like a well-rehearsed, flawless mechanism in which Antony and the band converse without communicating, switching between different interpretive keys and registers, enriching the songs' structure with sound or, alternately, stepping back to leave the stage to just piano and voice.

The performances grow in intensity and Antony's voice — admittedly rather low and not at its best at first — starts to warm up with a heartfelt "For Today I Am A Boy" followed by "Kiss My Name": the arrangements now become more complex, and yet the live rendition of the more uptempo tracks shows such restraint that it never places excessive emphasis on elements marginal to the lyrics and melodies. This leads into the central part of the performance and the first moment of dialogue between Antony and the audience, as he explains the meaning of "Everglade" and the pagan spirit that inspired it, echoed in the strength and grace of nature.

From here on it's one continuous succession of moments, of constant sonic transformations that demonstrate the unusual stylistic versatility of both the performer and the band, making it practically impossible (and more pointless than usual) to pin genre definitions on music that finds its own reason for being in the fleeting intensity of its performance. Thus, with no apparent break, a spontaneous soul inflection gives way to an incredibly restrained, country-tinged rendition of the Bob Dylan cover "I Was Young When I Left Home" (already performed for the charity compilation "Dark Was The Night"). In between comes the second story behind a song, "The Crying Light", along with a dedication to Kazuo Ohno, whose performance — in clear homage to the Japanese artist — sees Antony accompany the track with a gestural dance, repeated during several later performances as well, an added touch of expressiveness and the only small concession to a spotlight beyond the notes themselves.

By this point the performance has clearly moved away from the romantic minimalism of the opening arrangements and the fragments of hushed, string-laden introspection, taking on instead a full-band approach that heightens the tone of the closing stretch of the set, in which the reprise of the soulful "You Are My Sister" stands out.

After a couple of minutes of thunderous applause and a few overexcited outbursts from the audience – which seem to have visibly irritated the New York artist – the band comes back out onto a stage that's once again almost dark. A faint glow illuminates only Antony's piano, as he spends a few minutes having fun with a musical thank-you in Italian, improvised in three or four different arrangements. It can hardly be called the embryo of a new song, as Antony jokingly puts it, but it certainly shows off his and the band's stylistic versatility even in this brief interlude of a divertissement.

Less playfulness is found, however, in the artist's difficulty in getting complete silence after "Dead Boy" and before the evening's closing moment, moments in which, alongside his need for a stillness that had only rarely been granted him during the night, a silent trace of irritation comes through, one that feels very much like a small lesson in manners. But the “maestro” is forgiving and, having finally obtained the silence he longed for, immediately makes peace with the audience through his music, offering as a farewell gift (he'll return to the same venue on July 28th, accompanied by the Roma Sinfonietta) an intense “Hope There's Someone”, over which the faint light that had opened up around him just under two hours earlier slowly fades away once more.

(30/03/2009)

Photo: Riccardo Musacchio, Flavio Ianniello

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