Macy Gray Perth Entertainment Centre May 1, 2000
By Kin Woo

It was really a stroke of good luck that I got to see Macy Gray at all. A friend's friend couldn't make it, so I got the nod. My main loves are bands like Belly, Black Box Recorder, Belle and Sebastian, Lambchop, Mercury Rev, Saint Etienne, Dot Allison, etc. -- Macy's not part of the clique, but I would be a hard hearted, snobbish indie fan not to love "On How Life Is", a debut collection that's stuffed to the gills with genuine funk, soul and hip hop (as opposed to the polished slick rubbish we're usually served up).

After the opening act (a horrendous jazz-rock outfit), a white screen displayed the words "Macy Gray" for about 10 minutes. Then her 11 piece band appeared, surely an audacious move for someone's first tour. But Macy is a diva, not in the spoilt, brattish Whitney Houston sense but in the way that she has charisma to burn, an amazing stage presence and an out-of-this-world voice that is not only unique but devastatingly effective and full of depth. Hence not only does she come equipped with a horn and a trumpet player and two back-up singers (in blue 60's style wigs) for full gospel and cabaret effect; but she has a DJ and somehow this incongruity makes sense.

Opening with the strut-funk of "why didn't you call me?" she burns with righteous rage at the schmuck who err didn't call her. The fool. She is six foot something and wearing a snakeskin jacket and pants combo that would look rather silly on anyone else. On her it looks fabulous. She prowls around the stage with feline grace exhorting the enthusiastic audience to join her in saying "I love SEX!" and "GOOD HEAD". Oo-er missus. Which makes this author rather amused- due to his lack of getting either but gets into the spirit anyway. The friend who invited me just screams her head off, which was also quite enjoyable.

Macy then launches into the tremendous "Sex-omatic Venus Freak" which no doubt simultaneously arouses and terrifies the majority of the male population, what with words like "I will stop only when you tell me to". Yikes. All the while doing positively indecent things to the microphone. Shirley Manson, you have a new competitor and she's even MORE lascivious. She is the consummate entertainer telling us she ran "all the way from L.A. this morning just to be with you". Then she says, "Brisbane was the worst show I ever played- they made me CRY!" She declares. "I was talkin' to them and they didn't answer back-don't do that to me again!". Which stirs up enough pride in us (we MUST be better than Brisbane!) to result in reverberating screams from us. Finally she asks, "have you even fallen in love with the wrong motherfucker?" which is answered by a thunderous chorus of voices, mostly from my friend, for whom said crime has obviously happened on a number of occasions. "My band have a song about that, it's called "Still"." Whereupon major swooning takes place as that gorgeous and iridescent tune is unfurled in all its elegant grace.

After a few other ass-shaking numbers, suddenly she's gone. Never have I (and the audience) had to work so hard for an encore. The applause in the audience was exactly like the ebbs and flows of a wave- first, booming and feet a-thunderin' then unsureness about whether she'll come back, then shouts of "MACY! MACY!" then it starts all over again. Eventually her band dressed in dark sweaters each with an illuminated letter on them, come out into the darkness spelling out "I SAID SCREAM". Action more than complied with as a frenzied primal yell echoes around the room, so eager are we to please Mistress Macy. Finally the band come out all in white, while Macy is wearing another fabulous orange outfit. The 60's girl group stylings of "I Can't Wait to Meetcha" complete with amazing close harmonies comes on and it's wonderful.

Then of course, as if you even had to ask, "I Try" is unleashed, its impact akin to the detonation of an atomic bomb. Halfway thru, she and her wondrously voiced singers do that old chestnut, "Que Sera Sera" which needless to say, befuddles the crowd somewhat. Nevermind, because we're all totally under her spell. She returns to "I Try"- a much more manic and demented version and all the grander for it. The audience explodes. She exits first and one by one her band leave the stage, not before being showing off their respective skills under the spotlight-this is cabaret folks, but not as we know it. So, as we, elated and hoarse from screaming, depart the place, I leave safe in the knowledge that at least one previously cloth-eared indie has been converted to the church of '00 S-O-U-L of which Macy must surely be its patron saint.