No strings attached
The former 10,000 Maniacs singer reimagines her back catalogue with thrilling results.
Natalie Merchant Emmanuel United Reformed Church, Cambridge
IT TAKES seven songs before Natalie Merchant finally addresses the elephant in the room. Which is, co-incidentally, the modest room itself. By means of explaining why she is here singing at the altar of Cambridge’s Emmanuel United Reformed Church (capacity: 330) when her 2016 UK jaunt took in London’s Royal Albert Hall, she recites a list of other places she has just played. “Hebden Bridge, Ilkley, Buxton…” she grins. “We’ve hit all the major cities!” On the one hand, Merchant deliberately conceived this unexpected run of intimate shows to facilitate some “thorough tourism”, but it also offers a welcome curveball. Having spent much of her career pursuing music built around rich orchestral accompaniment – including re-recording her solo debut, Tigerlily, with strings in 2015 – tonight Merchant is chasing an altogether different vision. Aided only by long-time guitarist Erik Della Penna on acoustic, the pair are distilling 35 years of her music to its elemental form, ranging from her days fronting college rock moralists 10,000 Maniacs to the present. It works spectacularly. Although boasting the kind of acoustics where the unwrapping of a sweet resounds like a nuclear explosion, it is hard to imagine a venue better suited to showcase Merchant’s elegant voice. Often singing with her eyes closed during the opening trio of songs, she appears transfixed by the words. Indeed, when she quickly retreats off-stage after the fourth song, Dust Bowl, the thought occurs that Merchant may actually be emotionally overwhelmed by the event. The real culprit, she reveals, is not 10,000 Maniacs’ heartfelt reflection upon rust-belt poverty, but rather a whirring on-stage fan drying her throat. This minor setback actually kicks proceedings into a higher gear. Courtesy of some honey syrup swigged straight from the bottle, and Penna’s impeccable fretwork, Merchant soon delivers a captivating version of 2001’s Motherland, plus delicate goosebump renditions of Carnival and River from 1995’s Tigerlily. Presented in this delicate manner – Carnival, in particular, losing its signature entrancing drums – the poetic charge of Merchant’s lyricism comes to the fore. Undoubtedly, some of Merchant’s finest songs are AWOL tonight – Verdi Cries, Ophelia and Seven Years in particular – but there are consolations. An impromptu a cappella cover of The Beatles’ Your Mother Should Know is one, but better is a rare airing of King Of May – her beautiful tribute to Allen Ginsberg, from 1998’s Ophelia LP. “I played it at one of his memorials,” Merchant reflects from her keyboard, scanning the consecrated venue. “It seemed appropriate tonight.” She then recalls striking up a friendship with the Beat poet after he playfully reprimanded her for the cutting lyrics on 10,000 Maniacs’ Hey Jack Kerouac. Soon enough, Merchant begins that very song, her face wincing comically as she sings, “Allen, baby, why so jaded?” That is tonight in a nutshell: catharsis and entertainment in perfect equilibrium. The evening ends with Merchant using the “I want to thank you, thank you” chorus of Ophelia’s Kind & Generous as her farewell; she is swiftly rewarded with a rapturous standing ovation. It is well-earned. For all its austere Victorian beauty, the magnificent venue ends up being the least impressive aspect of a night overflowing with feeling.
“In this context the poetic charge of Merchant’s lyricism comes to the fore with striking effect.”