I'll never forget the first time that I heard Melissa Etheridge's "Bring Me Some Water."
In the spring of 1989 I was happily going about my business when it came on the radio. The song—an in-the-moment wail of betrayal as the protagonist is tormented by the knowledge that her lover is, at that instant, in someone else's hands—reminded me of a particularly painful episode from a decade earlier that I had done a good job of forgetting. ( To be precise, while that infidelity was going on I do remember holing up in the Davis Theater and watching a revival of Lawrence of Arabia, all three hours and 40 minutes of it, in an attempt to blot that knowledge out of my brain. ) Never mind that my errant boyfriend eventually paid a severe penalty ( cause-and-effect is a harsh mistress ) , or that by the time that I'd heard the song I'd forgotten the episode. What mattered was Melissa ripping that wound open all over again.
It wasn't what she sang but HOW she sang it that affected me so much; straight-ahead, unfussy, brutal rock-and-roll with unfurled emotions like silk flags snapping in the wind. In other words, her voice captured the rage, despair, misery and hurt that the situation called for but with a near-brutal nakedness. In that year of Etheridge's first release two other head-spinning debuts by women held just as much promise; however, though Tracy Chapman and Sinead O'Connor seemed to be goddesses for the ages, time hasn't been particularly kind to them. Etheridge—after 14 more albums, 27 million units sold, a victory over breast cancer, a Grammy, an Oscar, an autobiography, and even a stint on Broadway courtesy of Green Day plopped on the stage at the Venue with her unfussy, straight up style, and demonstrated why time actually seems to work for her.
It didn't matter that she was still touring behind last year's Fearless Love ( Island Records ) . This show had the feel of a tight band led by an artist at the top of her game; the cohesion in the playing and interplay onstage made you forget that you had heard it all before. Etheridge—with all her fury, playfulness and candor—just seems to get better as time goes by. Hitting the stage with a thunderous full-throttle "Fearless Love" and "The Wanting of You," she loaded "Your Little Secret" with flirty innuendo; "I Want to Come Over" with snark ( "If you find yourself stalking someone maybe you should be doing something else...," she cracked ) ; and "Company" into an unrestrained torch song.
"I Run for Life" may have sounded like an anthem of uplift ( which it is ) but it had so much heart that it was hard to resist. Then, there were the hits that had the mostly female crowd on their feet the whole night—"If I Wanted To," with its frayed passion; "Come to My Window," which almost came off like a soccer club sing-along; and the triple slam of "I'm the Only One," "Bring Me Some Water" and "Like the Way I Do." The show was obviously designed to satisfy—if not leave the audience exhausted after the two-hour set and an encore of the delicate "Gently We Row."
If Etheridge's audience wouldn't let her off the stage, Patti LaBelle's got positively frantic, but with good reason. Like Etheridge, LaBelle had no new recording to push; however, unlike her, this show went beyond perfection—it was almost supernatural.
Sure. it was a greatest-hits show, but after seeing her consistently down through the years since her solo debut back in 1977 this time LaBelle went beyond anything that I'd ever seen or heard out of her ... ever. To say that LaBelle, after a 50-year career, has vocal alchemy, power and range that goes beyond her discography and then some was a bit of a shocker. Obviously, this woman is not of this earth.
Kicking off with a motorized "New Attitude" and down-clutching into a measured "If You Asked Me To," LaBelle set the show on a leisurely pace. She also joked about Celine Dion's cover of "If You Asked Me To," saying that Dion was "very smart" and sold millions of her version while LaBelle claimed she only sold two. ( LaBelle's version had the misfortune of being the closing song for the James Bond film License To Kill, the only film in the entire 22-movie franchise that bombed at the box office. ) However, that's the rub; Dion's style is to hammer through a ballad like a rampaging bull in a china shop while LaBelle, though she's celebrated for the fury of her voice, knows instinctively when and how to caress a lyric.
By the time she dug into a near-whispered "If Only You Knew," with lyrical nuances and vocal dexterity beyond description ( and kicked off her first pair of pumps in the evening ) , she went beyond pop art; LaBelle was performing on the level of prime Maria Callas. Of course, she wouldn't quit it; "Somebody Loves You Baby" soared while on "Love, Need, and Want You" and "Stir It Up" she ran ( barefoot ) with the lyrics like a woman possessed. With a vocal co-lead from musical director John Stanley, the sleepy, sluggish duet "On My Own" got a jolt of drama but was actually the set-up for the show's surprise centerpiece—LaBelle's positively spectacular reading of The Skyliners' doo-wop chestnut "Since I Don't Have You." Intense? All I can say is that the hair did indeed stand up on the back of my neck.
Then there was "Lady Marmalade," the night's only misstep. From the moment that LaBelle's back-up chorus started chanting the songs' unmistakable coda ( "Hey sister, Go sister, Soul sister, Go sister..." ) the house was on its feet and it looked like LaBelle would try something new when she injected the chorus of Quincy Jones' "Stuff Like That" in the opening verse.
She sang that she had forgotten the words and promptly wrecked the song in the same way that she did the last three shows that this reviewer has seen her ( yes, even the LaBelle reunion ) . She invited four men onstage from the audience to sing with her, derailing the song; trashing the groove and momentum; and depriving her audience of a song that they obviously adore. That LaBelle, at this point, forgot the words ( or, uhhh, didn't bother to re-learn them ) indicates that she sees "Marmalade" as an unwanted stepchild; however, being that this was the only song from that period of her career that was on the set list it seemed like more than just a slight. Either she needs to retire the song or re-approch it with not only a new arrangement but a new, uhhh, attitude. ( LaBelle might want to take a hint from Joe Jackson on his album Live 1980/86 [ A&M Records ] , where he had three different versions of his overplayed hit "Is She Really Going Out With Him?" in three vastly different styles—each one as good, if not better, than the original. )
However, in the face of the finale it was hard to quibble. "Over the Rainbow" was positively otherworldly, taking the Garland classic into an entirely different dimension, but a call-and-response version of Michael Jackson's "Earth Song" reached a furious crescendo of emotional power and apocalyptic release that moved the show out of spirituality, gospel or soul. "Overwhelming" or "religious" isn't enough of a word for it. ... This was music that became embedded in your pores.
Photos by Vern Hester
