Anthony and the Johnsons
Hammersmith Apollo, London
The right warm-up act can add much to a sense of occasion. This evening’s choice of muse and dancer Johanna Constantine, who is part Edward Scissorhands and part Miss Haversham, simply adds to the impatience of a celebrity-packed audience desperate to witness for themselves one of pop’s most enigmatic performers: Mercury Prize-winner Anthony Hegarty and his band, the Johnsons.
Suffolk born, New York-based Anthony, who describes himself as “transgendered Catholic”, looks vaguely Amish in long black pinafore dress worn over a white blouse, as he strides to his piano on a subtly lit stage. The audience fidgets for a moment, as Anthony settles, only to be stilled, indeed stunned, when he opens his mouth to sing “Where is my Power?” in a voice often compared to his hero and one-time collaborator, Boy George, but which, heard live, owes more to Nina Simone.
It is a voice at once earthy and eerie, angry and pleading, and it is as soulful a sound as you are likely to hear. It is all too much for one woman in the stalls, who makes a bid for freedom, muttering: “I can’t stand any more of this”. Those who remain are transfixed as Anthony picks his way through three CDs’ worth of songs. After he apologies for “messing up” the introduction, the dark heart of recent single “Epilepsy is Dancing” is wrapped in beauty by the Johnsons – consisting of a string quartet, percussionist and bass player.
Like Simone, Anthony possesses a strong left hand and is not afraid to crank up the volume and tempo. “Shake that Devil” thrills with gospel intensity, before “Kiss my Name” is given a Stevie Wonder-style makeover. It’s perfect for a warm summer night.
And, like Boy George, the very fact of being Anthony is a political one – whether or not he intends it to be. He is halfway through his set before “this changeling who still loves the Virgin Mary” speaks at any length to his audience. He warns of impending environmental disaster before “Another World”, an elegy for a planet in its final throes. He then delivers a lecture on gender politics. Anthony longs for “a period of profoundly feminine governance”. One heckler just longs to hear Anthony sing.
“I hope you’re a transsexual”, Hegarty yells back into the darkness. “I wouldn’t take that kind of abuse from a man.” It’s all very good natured and, once Anthony has broken his silence, he becomes positively verbose.
However, this is not an evening for audience participation. Anthony does not write tunes to which you can sing along. The only role for spectators and listeners is to feel the music and, if they dare, take a collective peep into Anthony’s closet.
“Hope There’s Someone” and “You are My Sister” are delivered with devastating emotional poise and a subtlety that makes it hard for the uninitiated to know where one song ends and the next begins, before Anthony performs new song “Hope Mountain”. This is inspired by a dream of the second coming, where Jesus is, quite naturally in Anthony’s world, a girl.
As the single spotlight above Anthony’s head increases in brightness, it adds to the feeling that, after three albums, Anthony is finally coming into his own as a poet, a philosopher, a witch and a worrier. More than this, he is truly a singer of the highest order. Rarely have I seen a performance as movingly compelling as this.
Cary Gee
