Martha Wainwright is, like all other young artists with famous parents,
blessed and cursed. While she is no doubt grateful for the fanbase she has
inherited from Loudon Wainwright and Kate McGarrigle, at the
same time she must suffer the frustration that few of these fans will
approach her on her own terms.
Happily, Martha's brassy brand of feminist
folk-pop has also attracted a young and hip following who don't even know
who her parents are. This was reflected tonight in the crowd at the
Bloomsbury Theatre, a small and bland venue owned by University College
London but which nevertheless hosted Paul Simon, no less, a few
nights previously. Like brother Rufus Wainwright's following, Martha's audience truly
crosses the whole spectrum of ages (it remains, though, thoroughly white and
middle-class).
She is an extraordinary physical presence, an Amazonian beauty dominating
the stage in her sleeveless red dress as if she were the 50ft woman. Like
her father and brother she sings and plays with wonderfully expressive
idiosyncrasies - for Loudon's gurning and Rufus's pining into the
microphone, see Martha's sensual swaying of her hips to her song and pumping
of her left leg at the more intense moments.
Tonight she played most of her
eponymous debut album. The requisite beauty of Far Away was stunningly
achieved, as was the intimidating swagger of Ball and Chain and, of course,
the cathartic rage of her signature song, Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole. The
power of the woman's voice cannot be fully acknowledged on record, and when
she opened her lungs here she blew this reserved and timid audience into
next week.
But with an honourable sense of democracy, this show was very much not
all about Martha Wainwright, for she had invited many friends and family. No
Rufus, but Kate and Anna McGarrigle performed back-up all night, while the
likes of Ed Harcourt, Thea Gilmore and Chris Stills
(another with esteemed parentage - son of Stephen Stills) completed the all-star band.
Despite the ramshackle and unkempt nature of it all
(Martha: "we don't practise or rehearse - we hope you'll find it charming")
the sense of fun and camaraderie filled the auditorium. Each artist was
allowed their own chance to perform, with Ed Harcourt's You Only Call Me
When You're Drunk going down particularly well.
An unexpected moment of
sublime magic occurred when this troop of talent performed the McGarrigle's
My Sunflower. Introduced as a poem by William Blake committed to song, I
must say I truly feared the worst, but what followed was a song of majestic
Romance, wonder and melodic beauty.
We soon returned to Martha's material, and between swigs of tequila, she
played some intriguing new songs with the promise of a new album. Bizarrely,
she said "I'm still trying to see if I can write songs". The legions who
were entranced by her first album can attest she most certainly can.
The
fresh material proves it and perhaps sees her moving on to a calmer, more
mature level after the explosion of anger that was her first album.
Celebrities in the audience included Neil Tennant of the Pet Shop
Boys and Julian Barratt from TV show The Mighty Boosh, who, like the
rest of us, witnessed a very smiley Martha come of age.
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