The throngs that screamed, wailed and otherwise venerated Nina Simone at the Oriental Theatre on Sunday night had ample reason for their enthusiasm.
Their ovations–launched before the singer had said a word or sung a note–surely honored her history as civil rights champion and her iconic status as a defiant, liberated woman.
The passing decades, after all, have vindicated Simone, her once-radical viewpoints on race, gender and equality now embraced by the American mainstream. Unlike, say, Paul Robeson, a comparably political singer who was crushed by the system he defied, Simone has lived long enough to reap the rewards of her efforts and personal sacrifice.
So the connection that Simone re-established with her audience at the Oriental, after long years off the touring circuit, was genuine and deserved. Moreover, Simone seemed to bask in the accolades, more than once encouraging the start of a new round of ovations by declaring–in mid-performance–“I’ll take that applause.”
Yet even the singer’s most passionate fans would have to acknowledge that, vocally and musically, Simone’s tools have been diminished nearly beyond recognition. How much that matters to the listener depends on whether one chooses to regard Simone as a symbol or performing artist.
There was no question, however, as to which role Simone chose to play. Clearly aware of how much vocal range and pitch accuracy she has lost, Simone sang less and talked more, regally surveying her audience as she slowly walked across the stage.
When she finally seated herself at the piano, she dedicated the show to her “ancestors,” naming Marcus Garvey, Lorraine Hansberry and Robeson, among other civil rights titans. In so doing, Simone signaled that this was going to be a political, rather than a musical soiree, though, as such, it had its moments.
By plunging into “Every Time I Feel the Spirit,” a classic spiritual that Robeson sang magnificently even toward the end of his career, Simone didn’t simply recall the memory of a fallen giant. More important, she turned a solo concert into a massive sing-along, thereby taking the focus off her vocal limitations and placing it on the galvanizing effect she can have on a crowd.
“Here Comes the Sun” may not be the most sophisticated of tunes, its sing-song rhythms and childlike rhymes a far cry from the smoky, jazz-tinged repertoire that dominate Simone’s discography. But as a vehicle for interacting with an audience, the song is practically ideal, its simplicity enabling anyone to join in the music-making.
For all the shortcomings of Simone’s singing and pianism, there’s still something about her sound that can attract even a skeptical listener. Try to tune out the wobbly intonation and painfully cracked notes, and there’s no denying that Simone’s rugged, leathery contralto produces a sound summoned from deep within. Unvarnished and devoid of pretense, her singing at least is honest, direct and emotionally unalloyed.
But the singer tested at least one listener’s patience by bringing out her daughter, who goes by the lone name Simone and has embarked on a singing career of her own. The younger singer’s treacly repertoire, shrieking high notes and Whitney Houston-inspired bleatings proved as artificial as the elder singer’s style is real.
The headliner is so honest that she told the crowd she had “opened all doors” for her daughter, enabling her to win appearances on various TV news and entertainment shows. That explains a lot.
Fortunately, the mother-daughter love-in was short-lived, with Simone reclaiming the spotlight and, of course, ending the night with “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” a Simone anthem.
No, it wasn’t delivered as crisply as on Simone’s famous recordings, but it had at least one virtue: Nina Simone, in the flesh, reminding audiences of how much she has given them over the years.
