A look at the world of the arts by Irish Times journalists
Camerata Ireland/Douglas
NCH, Dublin
Sibelius - Rakastava. Beethoven - Piano Concerto No 1, Symphony No 3 (Eroica).
Barry Douglas's Camerata Ireland began its international concert series at the NCH on Wednesday. Later concerts will take the orchestra to London and Paris, where, it is to be hoped, there will not be a late start, an extended interval, a prizewinner's presentation and a bonus performance, all of which caused the Dublin event to overrun by some 40 minutes.
The evening's outer works were highly contrasted, Sibelius's Rakastava all delicacy and evanescence, Beethoven's Eroica Symphony among the most driving and gripping of symphonic statements. What the two performances had in common was a strength in moments of fine detailing that was not reflected in the communication of larger musical spans.
That shortcoming was not to be felt when Douglas himself was at the keyboard, where he showed fine control of a pianistically commanding and musically fervent account of Beethoven's Third Piano Concerto. The bonus performance, of a movement from Haydn's Cello Concerto in C, was provided by cellist Brian O'Kane, who has been declared Accenture Camerata Ireland Young Musician of the Year 2007.
Michael Dervan
Meshell Ndegeocello
The Button Factory, Dublin
Some would say that Meshell Ndegeocello is a musician who cannot be classified. Her own website narrows it down, though, to two unlikely categories: Japanese classical music and Christian rap.
It's not easy to tell if she's joking. There are now so many musical folds in Ndegeocello's eight-album career, from the drive of rock and the free surge of jazz to the bounce of reggae and the pummel of hip hop, that it would surprise few fans to find a song called "Jesus is My Home: The Takemitsu Toro Mix" lurking somewhere in her back-catalogue.
If there is something guarded in that feint, Ndegeocello can seem just as elusive on stage. Appearing in a woollen beanie and a buttoned-up waterproof jacket, as though she had just stepped in from a rainstorm, she is a nervy presence, weaving like a boxer.
"Thanks for coming. Hope you have a good time. We're just going to play some music," she says.
And so they do; an invigorating concoction of bass-heavy, brusque rhythms and rich sultry vocals, which can create a dizzying effect, as though Sarah Vaughn was fronting a punk band.
Ndegeocello is a bass player and a bandleader, and it's not for nothing that songs such as Virgo, Lock and Load and The Bottom ("We all gotta hit it at some time" goes her introduction) possess a steady, low-frequency rumble, whether she raps propulsively across them or luxuriates in the song with a velvety cadence.
Her emotional palette tends to stick to darker hues - Crying in Your Bed is straight-up down-tempo loneliness while Shirk, a soft ballad over a trickling guitar, is so raw and tender that when it ends Ndegeocello brushes it off immediately, as though embarrassed.
Maybe that's why she seems more comfortable with the confident bounce of Top Shelf (dedicated to the bartenders) and the grinding progression of Evolution (dedicated to Charles Darwin). There's something revealing in those kinships, as though they underline Ndegeocello's doctrine of fighting for love and constantly adapting - the survival of the toughest.
Peter Crawley
Ryan Adams and the Cardinals
National Stadium, Dublin
Looking at his European itinerary, Ryan Adams must have thought he was in for a great gig in Ireland.
"National Stadium," he would have mused. "That place must be huge."
The venue, however, does not quite live up to its lofty name, and this performance felt not like a gig but a two-hour rehearsal, to which the band had invited a few thousand friends.
If the atmosphere reeked of rehearsal, the music certainly didn't.
Adams's live show is far removed from his records. He has overhauled the songs, packing the verses with more muscle and polishing up the chromatic solos. The stabs are sharper, the hooks have more bite, and even though the vocal line wanders, it always has a sense of purpose. Some fans may be a little perturbed; the fragility and tenderness of tracks such as Dear Chicago and Please Do Not Let Me Go are reinforced and renovated into more resolute numbers. The result might be a bit less heartbreaking, but it's definitely more complete.
Adams is now sober, with caffeine his only weapon of choice. It shows in the playing, both his and the band's. He is tighter on guitar, and more in control of the music; he has opened up his voice and given it greater depth; and the band are there every step of the way, nodding each other on the pushes and pulls of each track, punching through the set with style and swagger.
A sober Adams is also more willing to engage with the audience. At first he was reluctant to banter, but once started, it took the combined efforts of his band to keep him quiet. He is witty, honest and, perhaps best of all, a little self-deprecating. It was inevitable that someone would scream up a request for a Bryan Adams song (which was met with unanimous booing from an unimpressed crowd - somewhere, an Irish village is missing its idiot). However, rather than whirl into the strops that have blighted earlier gigs, Adams parried the heckle deftly: "It's all right. I'm sure she feels better now."
" Let's sing more songs about depression and stuff. We have to squeeze in as many gigs like this before those anti-depressants kick in," he told his band.
This is the best performance Adams and his rock-solid Cardinals have brought to Ireland in years. The venue might not have been up to the performance, but the band, or Jimmy and the Coconuts as Adams introduced them, were in vintage counter-country form and took the town by storm.
Laurence Mackin
