Jerry Black, (writer), who has heard me sing for many years, told me after a concert at Fiddler’s Green in Montreal, that he had written about what he felt and saw at the concert…
I asked him if he would allow me to post what he wrote.
He said yes. Here is his text:
(Thank you to Andy Gural for the photo above.)
By Jerry Black –
I’m a lucky person.
I’ve been to and been thrilled by decades of live performances: artists ranging from Janis Joplin to Diana Krall; from Pink Floyd to The Rolling Stones; from Harry Belafonte to
Sammy Davis Jr.
And most recently, just last Saturday night, Barbara Lewis.
As anyone who has ever breathed the same electric air as Janis, Diana, Harry and Sammy Jr. will tell you, “They didn’t just sing to me – they TOUCHED me.” Very differently, to be sure, but they made you understand pain, joy, heartache, love – between these four giants, perhaps the entire range of human emotions.
And then there was Barbara, and Saturday night. One artist. Alone. In a tiny Irish Pub packed to the rafters with peoples of all ages, cultures, languages, expectations.
Barbara had spent an entire career composing, writing and performing her own material, each piece subtly crafted, each a jewel cut to reflect humanity in its finest forms; and so, many of those in attendance had already experienced Barbara’s ability to communicate feelings with unerring accuracy and aching beauty through her own arrangements.
But on this night, the anticipation was palpable as Barbara took to the stage to perform universally familiar standards – and we heard them as never before. The artist had, in effect, brought a new musical instrument to re-create the known – a voice like no other.
Church bells were pealing as Barbara voice reached dizzying heights while claiming, “Ain’t Misbehavin'”; Barbara’s soulful rendition of “Dance Me to the End of Love” would have delighted Leonard Cohen; her velvet voice gave such haunting promise to “If You Go Away,” I didn’t want it to end.
Happy patrons fought their desire (some unsuccessfully) to sing along, as Barbara interpreted “My Favourite Things,” “Fever” and “Try to Remember,” with delight, passion and love..
But it does a powerful disservice to merely list the songs we heard that evening, for in Barbara’s hands, each was made new again. Were the composers in the audience, they would have felt a deep gratitude – and not a little astonishment – as Barbara lifted their works perhaps beyond their imaginings.
Great performers such as Barbara, however, have more than sound, more than the song with which to captivate.
While Barbara’s rich, flawless voice was interpreting the passionate melodies with energy and feeling, Barbara moved through the audience, often just inches from her adoring, excited fans. Her face reflected every emotion of which she sang, whether happiness, sadness or sensuousness.
Barbara teased in Spanish; emoted in French; thrilled in English – and spread passionate joy in all three languages.
I saw a lady, swaying in time with the music, her face rapturous, mouthing the words as Barbara’s L’hymne à l’amour by Édith Piaf took her to a special place. It was beautiful.
I saw the Spanish contingent cheering, wildly appreciative as Barbara performed Somos Novios, and the sensual Sabor a Mir.
Barbara brought everyone together. Barbara touched us all.
An hour after it was all over and Barbara had left, many remained, chatting happily with new friends, still basking in the magic atmosphere that Barbara had created.
For many years, since I first heard Barbara’s unique vocal blend of passion, precision and power, I’ve struggled to give others some sense of that magic, but language has always failed me.
Early Sunday morning, still in a giddy rush from her performance, I realized why; NOONE else sounds like Barbara. There are no comparisons one can make. I wish Janis, Diana, Harry and Sammy could have been there. They would have told you the same thing.