Suzanne Vega

"From New York City, Suzanne Vega!", announces a voice off-stage. And for two hours, it's truly a New York state of mind that takes over the magnificent Parco dell'Ardeatina, home to the Casa del Jazz. Because on stage there she is, Suzanne Nadine Vega, a genuine bearer of the most authentic spirit of the Big Apple, forged over years paying her dues in the clubs of Greenwich Village with her guitar slung over her shoulder and her limpid, refined verses, around which she has built one of the most graceful and credible songwriting careers of the last 40 years. Accompanying her on stage for the occasion is an exceptional guitarist: Gerry Leonard, who has already worked alongside David Bowie on his final studio and stage work, joined later by cellist Stephanie Winters.

Suzanne, in a black dress and top hat like a cabaret chanteuse, opens straight away with "Marlene On The Wall", and it's a gut punch, at least for anyone – like the writer of this piece – who fell in love with her folk-rock of imploded emotions thanks to that very song, a folk-rock that caresses a vision both mythological and melancholy: “Marlene watches from the wall/ Her mocking smile says it all/ She records the rise and fall/ Of every soldier passing/ But the only soldier now is me/ I’m fighting things I cannot see/ I think it’s called my destiny/ That I am changing”. A lyric that – as she herself told us in an interview some time ago – has nothing to do with more celebrated "walls", referring instead to a "more anonymous wall": the wall of her childhood bedroom, where as a girl she kept a photo of Marlene Dietrich pinned up.
It's already scorching hot, but only the relentless title track of the 1992 album can bring us up to a temperature of "99.9 F°", its harmonically sweet vocals paired with electric jolts and biting guitar riffs. Closing out the magical opening triptych, an intense "Caramel" – one of the nine objects of desire from four years later ("Nine Objects Of Desire", 1996) – set to a smooth Astrud Gilberto-style bossa nova, lit up by a radiant melodic opening.

Suzanne is in a chatty, confiding mood tonight. She tells us, for instance, about one of her first great loves, a boy she met at a folk gathering when she was 18: the story that inspired "Gypsy" (from "Solitude Standing", 1987). But there's no wallowing in melancholy for long, because Vega's wit is always lurking nearby: "There's a new album! It's called 'Flying With Angels'... And the tour is named after it too. We have lots of new songs... But right now we're doing the old ones, because you know them better, and honestly, so do we!". She then jokes while introducing "The Queen And The Soldier", the other standout from her debut LP: "It's a sad song, it ends badly, and on top of that it's also very long!". Stephanie Winters also joins on stage, her cello accompanying the entire song, amplifying its sense of sorrow and helping to create a suspended, almost magical atmosphere, while Leonard delicately picks the strings of his acoustic guitar and Suzanne's voice spreads a sweetness of rare intensity.

On stage, framed by pine trees with a sliver of moon behind her, Suzanne Vega looks completely at ease, fanning herself against the sultry heat. There's no trace of the incredible shyness that marked her early performances. She even tosses off a few phrases in Italian with a smile: "Posso avere un capuccino per favore? Dov'è l'aeroporto?" ("Can I have a cappuccino please? Where's the airport?"). She recounts learning it when, in her twenties, she used to visit Italy often, promising to get better and better at it every time she returns. "See my dress? It's black, I could never wear white." And then she explains why, singing: “I never wear white/ White is for virgins/ Children in summer/ Brides in the park/ My color is black, black, black/ Black is for secrets/ Outlaws and dancers/ For the poet of the dark” ("I Never Wear White" from "Tales From The Realm Of The Queen Of Pentacles", 2014). Next comes the tribute to Elvis Costello with a vibrant, Dylan-esque "Lipstick Vogue", pulled straight from one of his masterpieces, 1978's "This Year's Model".

At last the new songs arrive too, starting with the title track of "Flying With Angels", one of her typical acoustic, guitar-led soliloquies, which amid hushed arpeggios whispers hope for some saving grace in difficult times. Suzanne speaks of angels holding us up and of a moving visit to the Vatican.
Next comes the folk-rock strike of "Speakers' Corner": "It sounds like an easy, easy-listening little song, but actually it's very serious, because it's about the First Amendment to the American Constitution and freedom of speech," explains Vega, who uses the metaphor of the corner reserved for impromptu speakers to warn about the dangers of disinformation and restrictions on free speech - more relevant than ever in Donald Trump's America: "I guess we better use it now/ Before we find it gone".
Closing the chapter on "Flying With Angels" comes the skipping "Chambermaid", a tribute to Bob Dylan that takes his eternal "I Want You" as its starting point, reworking both the original melody and lyrics, developing them from the chambermaid's point of view. Vega also shares a very funny anecdote about Mister Zimmerman: "I opened for a Bob Dylan concert in Norway in 2012, and after my set backstage I stole a kiss from Bob, who told me 'I'd like to see you again.' I never saw him again. It was the shortest relationship of my life. But if Bob wants to see me again, he knows where to find me." And she launches into "Left Of Center", with its famous line "If you want me, you can find me/ Left of center, off of the strip". Got that, Bob?

Another dive into the past closes the main set with a double shot from "Solitude Standing" (1987): first the autobiographical evergreen "Luka", in a more electric version than the original, then the a cappella urban nursery rhyme "Tom's Diner", which also inspired the DNA remix. Suzanne puts her top hat back on and basks in the thoroughly deserved ovation from the crowd before leaving the stage.
The encores, besides digging up the gem "Rosemary", offer a moving tribute to the great New York master Lou Reed, the man who, at a 1979 concert, struck the young Suzanne like a bolt of lightning and set her on the road to rock: "It was the first time I'd seen an artist tackle themes like violence and despair with such courage - she told us in the interview - I realized I could write songs about outsiders, about people on the street, that I could become a folksinger." The tribute - she warns, almost sheepishly - is her best-known hit: a heartfelt, intimate "Walk On The Wild Side".

It really seems to be over, some people are about to leave, and yet there she is back on stage asking us: "Do you want other songs?" Of course we do, the crowd roars back. And it's at this point that something happens that has never happened to this writer before. Amid the chorus of wildly different requests, I shout: "In Liverpool" (perhaps together with one other lone member of the audience). And incredibly, she grants my wish, after a quick huddle with her bandmates. "It's the second part of the story of 'Gypsy'" - she introduces it - "It's still about that boy I fell in love with at 18... he was from Liverpool." And she launches into that magically sing-song folk-pop tune, painting a melancholy little scene of a quiet Sunday Liverpool, bathed in a faint, delicate light, just like the person Suzanne is still addressing, all these years later.
All that's left now is the evening's epilogue, entrusted to the dark torments of "Penitent" (from "Songs In Red And Gray", 2001). The three musicians leave the stage to applause.
Nearly two hours have flown by, and even the heat seemed less intense. Must be the effect of that New York state of mind.

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