In the wake of last week’s terrorist attacks, dozens of artists canceled or delayed their shows and tours, either out of respect and concern or simply stemming from travel difficulties. But as the images from the tragedy replay over and over into a numbing blur, the realization sinks in that the only way to progress past this period of national mourning and malaise is to resume our daily routines. The show must go on, and so must our lives. This includes entertainment, even if the lingering effects of shock make the pleasure of live performance suddenly seem like an inconsequential luxury.
At first thought Lucinda Williams may not seem like an antidote to depressing current events. Her songs chronicle loss of a less explicit but almost equally painful kind, documenting frayed relationships and personal heartbreak through deeply personal narratives. But while Williams’ songs do often exemplify the strength needed to the combat the hurt, her downbeat appearance at the Vic on Monday night probably didn’t prove especially therapeutic for the packed crowd.
A pall hangs over Williams’ latest disc “Essence,” and that same dark mood colored her performance. “Are you down?” asked Williams rhetorically in the song of the same name, but the answer was preordained through the haunted music. “Blue” and “Broken Butterflies” were similarly somber, and even when Williams played more lively songs, such as the usually rollicking “Get Right With God” or “Joy,” she slowed the tempos down and tempered the music with small, expressive flourishes rather than big explosions.
Pausing to talk about the news, Williams–one of the finest songwriters of our time–deferred to another great, who, she said, captured everything she was feeling. Unleashing all her pent up frustration and anger, Williams tore into Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War,” one of his bitterest songs. If bad times can bring about great art, then at least one good thing can come out of a faltering economy and international crisis. Yet Williams’ chilling rendition of the 1963 song made the prospect of looming violence almost too much to bear. Even as we continue about our lives, the same dreamlike pall that affected Williams seems to be hanging over us all. The times they are a-changin’, indeed.
Ron Sexsmith possesses such a keen pop sense that he couldn’t compete with Williams in terms of sheer edgy pathos, but that’s fine. His uniformly impressive songs never failed to raise the spirits, showing that in a world of ugliness there’s still plenty of room for beauty. “April After All” and “Riverbed” were gorgeous ballads, while “Cheap Hotel” subtly recalled classic soul.
The Canadian songwriter did express his regrets, but unlike Williams he offered a sense of hope, however fleeting.
