Anais Mitchell

A peek into

the tightly shut windows of the Great American Music Hall, a little theatre from 1906,

once a gambling den and brothel at the same time, and you get a distinct premonition of the

complementarity between the atmosphere of the place and the show

by Anais Mitchell, a work of musical vaudeville

that is at once socially engaged, brooding and theatrical. Amid overwrought

stucco and dusty drapes, you can make out the ghosts of drunken

squires toppling from their chairs, the rotting corpses of decrepit

streetwalkers swaying lasciviously between the tables… The grime of vices settled

into every corner, the very thing everyone today tirelessly tries to wipe off

their hands onto the edges of their coat, blends perfectly with the

wistfully nostalgic aura (for those nobler feelings that seem

forgotten) of our artist's latest work: “Hadestown“.

Part of the fascination of the concert obviously comes from the theatrical, staged

character of this record — specifically, the transposition

of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice into the bleak setting of an America marked

from crisis, isolating herself but pulled by poetry toward a rocky path of

escape. For this closing mini-tour, Anais has gathered musicians from the

local scene, such as Sean Hayes, who plays Orpheus, Thao Nguyen (Persephone) and

John Elliott (Hades), and consistently keeps the sequencing of the songs from

“Hadestown”, running through it in its entirety following the narrative order.

Her Brechtian work is indeed

perhaps a bit schematic (the dead are the rich, while the living side holds the hungry

poets), but it's brimming with an innocent fervor that's still

hard not to be swept up in. All traits convincingly recreated live,

with a full orchestra – the stage holds no fewer than

16 members, including the five characters, plus three backing singers, a string

quartet, a pianist, a guitarist, a percussionist, etc. Anais herself seems

captivating and inspired, and although she lacks an exceptional voice, she makes up for it

with palpable charisma, steering the narrative (in a very

“American” way) between songs and writhing in front of the microphone.

Without taking anything away from the performances of

Justin Vernon in the studio, it's above all Sean Hayes, among those present on the

stage, who hits home (with a spine-tingling “If It’s True”) thanks to the

personality with which he plays a role that's anything but obvious (both on a

technical level and in terms of interpretation tout

court), such as that of Hades, or Hermes (portrayed in a

more conventional way – but still admirably – by John Elliott and Michael Chorney, respectively). Less well-judged is the presence

on stage of Nguyen, more concerned with striking the poses of what seems to be

herself (rather than her character) than with consistently singing her

parts, often running out of breath, perhaps out of emotion.

Aside from that, although it loses the refinement of certain passages on the record (the

gentle sigh of Bon Iver, the breadth of sound and the small details of

piano and strings, echoing here and there), the immediacy of the performance,

not just musical but also in gesture and expression, more than makes up for it, revealing

the charm of a work that stays coherent right down to its old-fashioned appeal: it seems made

meant to be played “on the road”, in old dives and bars on the

outskirts of town, amid the clatter of dishes and the shouting of drunks. Whether

“popular” art or not, it's always a pleasure to listen to.

Ride the wave of great music

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