Shock and awe

Joanna Newsom and full orchestra wow Brooklyn crowd

By Kristyn Pomranz
Published: February 4th, 2008 | 9:44pm

February 1, 2008, in Brooklyn — It was disconcerting to hear rock-concert-style rebel-yells at the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Gilman Opera House. The Brooklyn Philharmonic’s strings reverbed on stage as shouts bounced off the carved wooden rafters, pealing across some 2000 patrons in attendance. There stood fans in preemptive ovation, clapping with violent self-flagellation. And that was all prior to Joanna Newsom’s entrance.

As she skimmed on stage, the noise escalated from din to deafening. Dressed for the symphony in a long black gown with sparkling embellishments and hippie-length hair that demanded taming, Newsom, without comment, straddled her strings and dove harp-first into a full performance of Ys (Drag City). Hearing the album live with the Brooklyn Philharmonic, as originally orchestrated by Van Dyke Parks, felt wholly organic, as though a symphony-less Newsom would be incomplete.

Though Michael Christie conducted the Philharmonic, he, in turn, took cues from Newsom. The black-clad ensemble and black backdrop posed a striking contrast against Newsom’s milk-eyed skin, and as she strummed her harp, the sawing of the violin bows moved with her, like a hundred extensions of her arms.

Newsom’s voice is often a point of critical contention. On disc, she sounds freely untrained, yet in person she vacillated between the soulful folk of Patty Griffin, the erratic hiccup of Björk, and the gravelly growl of Shelley Plimpton. All three intonations managed to soar and complement when infused with the raw emotion of a live performance.

As Newsom bowed after the flawless 12-minute, 30-piece-instrument performance of “Emily,” the audience didn’t just applaud — it erupted into the type of shock-and-awe incredulity usually reserved for the likes of Andrea Bocelli. And so it went until her first formal break when she finally engaged the audience in a bit of banter: “I just want to apologize to my hairdresser Mikey for cutting my own hair. It was getting to be too much.”

With one beat skipped, she crawled into her solo, “Only Skin.” There felt something unsettlingly vulnerable about a woman and her harp enveloped by a stage of musicians rapturously watching onward. There were moments of the piece when it seemed certain she would shatter. But at the conclusion of the song, after nearly a solid minute of thunderous applause, she simply continued, unfazed, “Hairdresser? Is that the right word? Or is that like saying, ‘lady astronaut’? That was bugging me, that’s why that last song was so ‘eh’…”

After a quick intermission upon completion of Ys, the second act found a costume-changed Newsom with just her band: a violinist, a banjo player and a drummer. As they opened with “Bridges and Balloons” (once covered by the Decemberists), a fresh dynamic took shape. The performance was no longer buttoned-up; instead, the quartet worked as a cohesive musical unit — every person integral, all acting and reacting. The dynamic violinist Lila Sklar pulled focus with her charged bowing, and barefoot drummer Neil Morgan brought a gentle choreography to his kit. He moved as though he were hand-training the symbols rather than playing them, patting the kick like a dog’s bare belly. The sound was so intricate, so lush, and so intelligent that it’s difficult to believe it was a mere four-instrument production.

Toward the end of the set, Newsom announced it would be her last show for awhile, and she confessed her fright with her blank tour calendar. She then praised her band with, “They’re better musicians than I’ll ever be. I usually have some sort of wisecrack after they leave the stage, but not tonight. I’m feeling kind of sad. Just kidding. I hate them.” No kidding, we’ll miss Joanna Newsom.