Loreena McKennit
19 May 94
San Francisco

Mystic's Dream
Santiago
She Moved Through The Fair
Between The Shadows
The Two Trees
The Stolen Child
Nasca Lines
Full Circle
Amazing Grace
The Dark Night of the  Soul
Marrakesh Night Market
Bonny Portmore
Procession
The Lady of  Shalott
The Bonny Swans
Prospero's Speech
Huron Beltane Fire Dance
Annachie Gordon

return

Reprinted without permission but I suspect that Jay won't mind if I his great review . .  .  from his web site . . .  

Concert reviews are like sex scenes: It's  no fun just to keep being told how good it was, or how kinky. We want all  the details, and we want them slowly. Therefore, since Loreena McKennitt  fans are already well familiar with her music, a review of other aspects  of the process and esthetics of attending one of her concerts might be  welcome to those who have not yet seen her perform.

I am a newcomer to her work. In 1992, I  tuned to a radio station playing "The Lady of Shalott",  recognized that Tennyson had acquired an extraordinary interpreter, and  was dismayed when the disc jockey did not name the artist after the song.  It took most of a year to find someone who could identify the singer, but  then only a few weeks more till I had all four Loreena McKennitt albums  then extant. Thanks to the "old-ways" electronic mailing list, I  knew the schedule of her spring 1994 tour well in advance -- proof  positive that the "information highway" does from time to time  contain information -- and was hounding the box-office agencies long  before ticket release. For my zeal, I obtained front-row orchestra seats for myself and three friends.

After weeks of eager anticipation, May 19  finally arrived, and we car-pooled into San Francisco. Getting to the  Palace of Fine Arts is risky business: It's the last exit off US 101  before the Golden Gate Bridge. We avoided an unintended visit to Marin  County, but San Francisco's web of one-way streets and no-left-turn signs  defeated us temporarily. We could see the high, classic roof of our  destination nearby, yet could not seem to reach it, no matter which way we  turned. But as veteran California commuters, we had allowed plenty of  time, so we not only made the show but even found close-in parking. Many  unhappy fans patiently waited near the doors, politely asking those lucky  folks with tickets for any to spare. Alas, we had none, but their plight  made us the more joyful at our own good fortune.

The Palace appointments were beautiful and  comprehensive: The lobby had lots of tables and chairs -- even a fireplace  -- and a nice concession for small food, featuring salad plates and fresh  bagels in addition to the usual beverages and sweets. The folks from  Quinlan Road -- McKennitt's recording label -- had a long table by one  wall, for the sale not only of her albums, posters and memorabilia, but  also of recordings by other band members. McKennitt fans are nothing if  not diverse. The audience-to-be was widely variegated. Dress ranged from  jeans and sweat shirts to formal attire, with even a tuxedo or two. There  was much jewelry and color, worn by both men and women. A few Loreena  look-alikes sported hairdos and long gowns reminiscent of the album  covers. Everyone was polite and quiet, with no rowdiness to be seen.

The inner doors opened on time, and we  filed in. The ceiling seemed very far away, and a tremendous stage spanned  nearly the full width of the hall. Seating was for live theater, with rows  sloping steeply up, to give everyone a view of the stage. Even the most  remote seats were close enough to see well. What a treat to be in the  front row! The stage edge was close enough to reach out and touch, almost  close enough to prop my feet on, though a little high. I did try, though,  and one of my companions promptly took off her shoes.

The stage itself was empty of performers,  and dimly lit. The curtain was open to the band's equipment, set up in  tiers. In front, ten or fifteen feet from the edge of the stage, lay  McKennitt's harp. At extreme left and right were large speakers. In the  next row, starting at the audience's right, were a cello, an electronic  keyboard, McKennitt's piano, centered behind the harp, and a guitarist's  position with a variety of mysterious instruments half hidden. Further  back and higher, again from the right, were the equipment and positions of  fiddler, percussionist and bass player. Smaller items of equipment,  electronic components, and instrument cases lay here and there. Most of  the musical apparatus and fixtures was solemnly black, as was the drapery  with which the stage was set.

Intermingled among the equipment were tall  candelabras, not yet lit, each carrying seven white candles perhaps two  inches thick and eighteen tall, regularly arranged in an inverted vee. The  candles were not real -- I could not see exactly how they worked -- but  their appearance both unlit and lit was close in detail and as perfect in  atmosphere as if they were burning wax. They were almost architectural in  their contribution to the stage setting. As candles, they suggested the  mystery and quiet sanctity of a medieval cathedral, and as an array of  stark white columns they hinted at the classic simplicity of a Greek  temple. Quiet music played from the huge speakers as the audience settled  itself. Presently the lights went slowly low.

The performers entered from the wings,  briefly using small flashlights carefully to pick their way among the  wires and cables, and the concert started. The lights came up slowly,  starting with a carefully focused pale blue spot shining straight down on  Loreena McKennitt. Its wan, clear light washed her wide hair to the  colorless, radiant luminosity of antique silver or a midwinter moon. Her  strong, composed face, eyes downcast as she stood before the keyboard,  remained quiet as the music began. Her long, covering dress seemed also to  glow -- its panels of differing shades and naps of black and dark gray  lent greater luster and depth to the rich fall of its folds than if it had  been entirely of any one somber hue. She could have been the spirit of  another place and time. She could have been a priestess about to perform  solemn ritual. And who knows? Perhaps she was. Perhaps she was...

The opening number was "The Mystic's  Dream", substantially as performed on the new album, "The Mask  and Mirror", with what seemed to be the same backing choir vocals,  played through the sound system. I think that was the only prerecorded  material in the concert. McKennitt's voice, the rich and dynamic soprano  heard on all the recent albums, was undeniably and wonderfully real. There  was applause, but the audience seemed as much hushed as electrified. I was  grinning.

Next was "Santiago", from the  same album. McKennitt stepped away from the keyboard and took up her  accordion for some of the sustained chords in the latter part of the  piece. As she played, she moved about the stage, dancing with contained  rhythm. The large, glistening pocket- watch hanging from a cord around her  neck bobbed and swung in response. She swayed this way and that, lifting  first one foot and then the other in time to the music, smiling at the  other musicians in the band. She has a delightful smile. Most Americans  grin like predators, showing our teeth as if about to pounce. Not so  Loreena McKennitt: The corners of her wide mouth spread wider still, then  lift slightly upward as she turns her eyes toward the subject of her  pleasure, all but beaming, with lips still nearly closed. The whole  process is slow enough that the viewer can sense it starting to happen and  watch it develop, which is great fun. She thus favored each member of the  band regularly, and also from time to time the audience.

Third came "She Moved Through The  Fair", from the first album, "Elemental". It is not a  personal favorite, so although I noticed some differences in style and  presentation from the recorded version, they did not strike me  sufficiently to remember and describe them. Then McKennitt stopped to talk  for a while. She joked about not having left her harp in San Francisco,  and introduced her band: Brian Hughes played guitars and another strummed  instrument called an "oud", Rick Lazar did all manner of  percussion, Steve Lucas played acoustic bass, Hugh Marsh fiddled, and  cellist Kiki Misumi also doubled at the keyboard occasionally, when  McKennitt was not using it. They all wore conservatively-cut clothing in  grays and blacks, matching the general style of McKennitt's dress. The  various compositions gave every musician a time as the dominant force in  the music. McKennitt was careful to use gaze and posture to direct the  audience's attention to her colleagues at such moments, as well as to  express her verbal appreciation of their talents. She described them as  "idling Porsches", whose roles provided no opportunity to show  the full scope of their virtuosity.

Hughes and Marsh subsequently got to do  compositions of their own, which demonstrated that they were Porsches  indeed, but I am getting ahead of myself. About then I realized that  McKennitt seemed very tired. I am still not sure what combination of  expression and body language made me think so, but I had that impression  strongly, and it appeared confirmed now and then during the performance,  when some of her comments to the audience got a little disjointed. The  band was near the end of some two months of tour, both in Europe and in  North America, so fatigue is understandable. Yet they had had a six-day  break since their last date, in Washington, DC, and McKennitt spoke  happily of soaking up heat in Arizona, evidently en route to the west  coast, so it is not as if there had been no relief. I hope she was well.

Next was "Between The Shadows", a  short instrumental from "The Visit", followed by two Yeats  settings: "The Two Trees", from "The Mask and Mirror",  and "The Stolen Child", from "Elemental". The latter  work is one of my favorites, so I was most attentive to how the concert  version differed from the 1985 recording. The change was dramatic: In the  earlier work her voice was a more fluid, almost throaty soprano, but on  stage in 1994, she gave a vocal presentation in the drier and more  expressive voice of the recorded versions of "Full Circle" or  "Greensleeves". I would welcome a new recording of "The  Stolen Child" in this style, and while I am on the subject of Yeats  settings, I do wish she would try "The Song of Wandering  Aengus", too.

As McKennitt moved from instrument to  instrument, and the mood of the music changed from one composition to  another, the lighting crew used more narrowly focused spotlights with  different filters completely to change the color of her hair. During the  romantic pieces that tell of love given or love lost, they generally  brought it to a tone warm as a new-polished penny or a pale alloy of gold.  Since there was nothing remotely resembling natural lighting anywhere on  stage, I have little idea what color her hair actually was. My best guess,  based on hints seen in the flashlights used for walk-on and walk-off,  would have it a pale straw blonde, a little lighter than on the cover  portrait for "The Mask and Mirror", but there was not enough  light to be sure.

Next, Brian Hughes got to strut his stuff  with "Nasca Lines", an instrumental from his recording,  "Under One Sky". I know little about the instruments a guitarist  plays, so cannot provide details of his talents, but they were  considerable, for the piece is fast and intricate. His playing was most  expressive, and fun to watch. The instruments Hughes used throughout the  concert were varied and fascinating, often richly and unconventionally  detailed. I wished he had set them on stands where the audience could see  more of them.

The first set finished with "Full  Circle", from "The Mask and Mirror". The presentation was  close to the recording, but with additional high-pitched tones during the  introduction, which I think enhanced the feeling of open space and desert  that the work suggests.

Several of my companions felt the  intermission more interruption than respite. We stood by our seats,  looking for friends in the audience and finding many, or chatting  familiarly with the occupants of seats nearby, who seemed no longer  strangers. We had been brought together by our common love of the music  and by the transforming strength of the performance.

And soon the lights dimmed again. The first  piece in the second half was an electronically augmented violin  instrumental of "Amazing Grace", by Hugh Marsh, available at the  door on a tape cassette bearing only his name for identification. It was  fabulous! Marsh made his fiddle sound like everything from a human voice  to a complete percussion set. We already knew the violin was an erotic  instrument, but that was kinky! I suspect Marsh's fiddle was a talking  drum in a previous life.

Next came two more selections from  "The Mask and Mirror", namely "The Dark Night of the  Soul" and "Marrakesh Night Market", again not much different from the album. When circumstances permitted, as when another  musician played or her own passage was simple, McKennitt seemed to enjoy  making eye contact with her audience. The stage was not bright and the  footlights seemed low, so she could probably see us well. She spent fifteen seconds or so looking curiously in my direction. I am in no way a  remarkable sight, but I have read that McKennitt likes to garden: I think she was looking at the wild white roses I had tucked into my shirt pocket,  where they stood out in sharp contrast to the forest-green fabric.

Next came "Bonny Portmore", from  "The Visit", which is my favorite song in her repertoire to  date. I was on the edge of my chair in anticipation, but the arrangement  was different than on the album, though interesting in its own right, and  the high notes were not so sustained and powerful. I was a little  surprised when I glanced along the front row and found that I was the only  person sitting forward. Suddenly curious about others' reactions, I looked  around regularly during the rest of the concert, and found remarkable  variation in response: Here and there people were in tears, and  occasionally a few folks seemed in trance. Nobody was asleep.

Another Brian Hughes instrumental followed:  "Procession", which appears not to be on any album. Then came  the one song most of us had been waiting for, from "The Visit",  "The Lady of Shalott". I enjoyed watching McKennitt play harp.  She kept the instrument to her right, and from my seat nearly in front of  it I had a greatly foreshortened view of that side of the instrument, so  that I could see the intensity of her gaze and the strength and precision  of her hands as she plucked and strummed the strings, even as I listened  to the free and ethereal melody that resulted. Music has never been my  art, but the dichotomy between exactness of implementation and apparent  freedom of result occurs in many other practices, artistic and technical  alike. To see it in McKennitt's musical craft was humbling, for her  creativity so far exceeds my own, yet also encouraging, in that an experience known to masters can be shared by apprentices and journeymen.

But she muffed "The Lady of  Shalott"! She dropped the two verses before the last, in the one  piece no doubt best known to most of her audience. For a moment I thought  it a deliberate rearrangement, or an accommodation to the strain of two  hours' singing. (And how frustrating it must be when your fans know all  your stuff and complain if you change it the least bit.) It may have been,  but on reflection, I think it was simply a mistake. For a few seconds, her  face looked all too much like the expressions of my cats on entering a  room where I have just rearranged the furniture. But it was all right --  the strength and integrity of the performance carried us, as it carried  her. And perhaps a master's error will provide some shred of enlightenment  to those who use their own errors as justification for not attempting  mastery...

The last two numbers were both as on  "The Mask and Mirror": "The Bonny Swans" and  "Prospero's Speech". The standing ovation was immediate and  enthusiastic. The entire band came back and did a "Huron Beltane Fire  Dance" that was longer, wilder and even more powerful than the one on "Parallel Dreams", and all but had us jumping up and down and  screaming. They got another standing ovation, and then she returned alone,  took up her harp at the front of the stage, and played the achingly  beautiful "Annachie Gordon", again from "Parallel  Dreams". And a third standing ovation notwithstanding, our last dream  of the evening was the narrow, vertical spot beam slowly fading, fading,  till all that remained of the bard was the luminous afterimage of her  hair.

Loreena McKennitt has publicly discussed  the motivations for her artistic path. My summary would be that she is on  a musical quest for the wellsprings of the spiritual side of human nature,  a journey in pursuit of those aspects of our character and condition that  make religion and mysticism possible: A search for the song where the soul  was born. I do not doubt she is a successful entrepreneur who properly  responds to the wishes of her public, yet I believe she speaks truly, for  the majority of her recorded work, and nearly all of the more recent  material, touches on some such theme as I have mentioned.

A concert by such an artist is not just a  commercial event, or even just an aesthetic one. It is an act of intimacy  and of learning, with an underlying structure beyond the mere sequence of  songs. The soft lighting, the meaning-laden props, the formal costumes,  and the subdued colors, all lead up to the introductory invocation of a  "Mystic's Dream", in which we are transformed and unified. We  are changed from an unrelated group of urbane citizens of a hasty and  shallow civilization, into a closely-knit community of seekers after  truth. We find that we have come to discover and experience what another  voyager has found along the way, and what it meant, and whether it  mattered, and why it was important to her. Perhaps it will be important to  us as well, if only she has the skill to lead us where she has already  gone.

Loreena McKennitt has that skill. Her  concert combines the power and tradition of the entire human ritual  process, resynthesized from long-separated aspects found in theater, in  musical performance, and in religious ceremony. She uses lighting, props,  costume, and gesture, effectively to augment the mixture. The result is  something at once very old and very new, or at least very rare in the  modern world. And it works: Its strength is measured by the intensity of  emotional response of the audience, and by the continued eagerness and  enthusiasm of her fans.

With the end of the prepared program, the  words of Prospero bid us return to a more conventional reality. Yet the  sudden vast force of the first encore leaves a full memory of the things  that we have been led to know, with a sense they are there for us to find  again, that they will come back if we but choose to look for them. And the  second encore, done privately at the front of the stage, reminds us that  Loreena McKennitt is also still there, and that she, too, may yet come  back. I hope so.

Jay Freeman
 Palo Alto
 May 26th, 1994