Jim Carroll braved the traffic and headed for Punchestown to catch a slight, unassuming lad called Marshall Mathers in action. Also reviewed is Bread and Circus at the Project Arts Centre.
Eminem, Punchestown Racecourse
It's best to note from the off that no animals were harmed or women sacrificed during the course of this show. Yes, the ground did shake and storm clouds did gather, but we expect the latter in Ireland in June and you can thank the bass for the former. For hip-hop's Elvis, this was another night at the mill, where he got to hang with his homeboys and put on probably the greatest hip-hop show on Earth.
Because, make no mistake about it, Marshall Mathers's stick of rock still has hip-hop embedded in it all the way through. There may be songs here which have become pop classics like Stan, Lose Yourself and Without Me, but that's more a case of pop catching up with Eminem than the rapper taking his cues from any Westlife stiffs. With likeable vocal-foil Obie Trice, the mid-set appearance of the slightly-shambolic D12 crew and DJ Green Lantern running things from the decks, the Eminem show has all the hip-hop accoutrements you could desire.
Aside from a grand sense of the spectacular (his onstage arrival via a large Ferris wheel, the constant flow of eye-candy on the big screens and a breakneck pace), Eminem in a Co Kildare field is about music which takes in roughneck nuggets and even heartfelt moments like Hailie's Song. Some tracks are surprisingly clipped in length after two or three verses, leaving White America, Soldier and especially the anthemic Sing for the Moment to cover the most ground. That these are more than up to the task says much about the scope of Eminem's songwriting prowess.
His turn with D12 on Purple Pills is far sharper than on record, skitting and skipping along with gusto in Scooby Doo cartoon fashion, while The Way I Am turns into a real showstopper, probably saying more about Eminem and his motives than any amount of overwrought hand-wringing or uninformed commentary. Tonight, as it should be, was about the music, and Eminem certainly delivered that. Few stuck for hours in the completely disorganised post-concert traffic hell would disagree with that. - Jim Carroll
Bread and Circus, Project Arts Centre
You don't expect to hear the sound of joints thudding against wood in Liz Roche's choreography. Soft, fluid movements on released bodies normally leave the audience with a warm glow, but the uncomfortable and unnerving Bread and Circus leave you with emotions churning. It's not just because of the flailing bodies, recklessly thrown around the place, but rather that every movement seems gnarled by inner anguish.
A follow-spot welcomes the dancers on-stage and they immediately begin restlessly padding around the edges of the stage, eyeballing each other. The sense of menace grows, and soon they are paired off in combat, arms and hands largely redundant, sometimes pushing away an approaching knee. It's a convention that continues throughout the piece, such as in Jenny Roche's solo, where limbs are secondary to the expression in her tense, quivering torso. Earlier, Robert Jackson's athetoid movement shows uncontrollable limbs struggling against gravity as his body constantly buckles and collapses to the floor.
There were moments when the movement released you, like the split-second that Jenny Roche falls to the floor to begin her solo or the early duet where Justine Doswell coaxes Lisa McLoughlin though a seductive repeating phrase. Much later, all the bodies fell to the floor in a moment that feels like a natural ending. But rather than paint herself into a choreographic corner, Roche lets the dancers rise and face the audience, unweaving a gorgeous soft repeating phrase that lengthens and shortens and at once releases the dancers' energy.
However, the aftertaste is still tempered by the long periods you have stewed uneasily, and this self-appointed task of the creation and manipulation of mass emotional response is achieved by remarkable subtlety. The choreographer was greatly aided by the commitment of the performers (who include James Hosty, Katherine O'Malley and Grant McLay), Morleigh Steinberg's softly understated lights, Dennis Roche's abrasive music and the behind-the-scenes contribution of dramaturg Gavin Quinn. - Michael Seaver
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