A gaggle of late arrivals and chinwagging punters mar an otherwise excellent support slot from Rufus Wainwright. Opening alone at the piano with the swelling chords of ‘The Art Teacher’, he rolls into an equally unfettered take on ‘The Maker Makes’, the volume from the crowd still demonstrating either complete ignorance of the Canadian singer-songwriter, or a lack of respect.
Such is the nature of arena shows for more restrained musical entities, but regardless he ploughs on, switching to guitar for the elegiac ‘Going To A Town’ before moving into ‘Memphis Skyline’, which weaves the story of Orpheus with the tragic drowning of that great musical soul, the miraculously voiced Jeff Buckley.
After the number, Wainwright yarns about recording a version of the song that the fallen singer made his own, ‘Hallelujah’, before playing said choral. It’s suitably breathtaking.
Rounding out his set is ‘Montauk’, from his latest Out Of The Game, the ever-playful ‘Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk’, and a swooning turn of ‘Poses’, all proving that his songbook is one of quantity and quality, a fitting – if under appreciated – support slot to an artist who’s own burgeoning catalogue is equally characterised by its size and status.
At 71, you could forgive Paul Simon for recoiling into retirement and letting his reputation as one of music’s most quintessential songwriters remain dormant.
He has nothing left to prove, so why do it? Why tour and risk the wrath of critics who love nothing more than to point out the fragilities of aging artists? Surely the royalties from his 50-plus year career are still filling his pond?
It turns out it’s because Simon’s ability as a performer and entertainer remains undiminished; he’s as remarkable as he was thirty years ago.
Simon has never been one to be dictated by age or trend. In the mid ‘80s when fellow troubadours James Taylor and Jackson Browne were riding the easy breeze of adult-contemporary, he was experimenting with lopsided time signatures and South African a cappella.
His fans have stayed with him and tonight’s near-full house is testament. It’s all the more accentuated considering there are 80,000 Melburnians across the road at the MCG and a similar amount prepping their journey to Hanging Rock for ‘weekend Bruce’.
The diminutive songwriter uses the occasion – a sideshow to his appearance on the star-laden Byron Bay Bluesfest bill – to induce a sense of nostalgic warmth. Cuts like ‘Slip Slidin’ Away’, ‘Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes’ and ‘Obvious Child’ provide a neat solo career summation.
They’re also timely reminders as to why his discography is matched only by a chosen few. Not many have crafted tracks as unique as ‘Me And Julio Down By The School Yard’ and ‘Graceland’.
His backing band is remarkable (all 152 of them). Their delivery snaps with the crispness synonymous with Simon’s impeccable production values. There’s hardly a weapon they opt to leave out of the arsenal – flutes, xylophones, accordions; all are unleashed with a specific purpose (especially a terrific sax solo during “Hearts N Homes”.)
The 71-year-old wisely opts not to indulge in too much Simon & Garfunkel material. That’s not a dig at the duo’s catalogue (far, far, far from it). It’s just that no-one can emulate Garfunkel’s falsetto.
When Simon does play the likes of ‘The Sound Of Silence’ and ‘The Boxer’, they’re stripped-back, unaccompanied and effective. A cover of George Harrison’s ‘Here Comes The Sun’ is greased with the same treatment and proves equally pleasing amongst the surprisingly age-diverse crowd.
Of course, ‘You Can Call Me Al’ lifts any remaining seat-clingers onto their feet. And yes, that bass-line break is slapped flawlessly. Twice, actually. The only thing missing is footage of Chevy Chase dancing in a beige sports coat on the big screen.
Underpinning the performance of such tracks is Simon’s vocal. It remains untarnished, unblemished by the passing of time and weariness of age. While the larynx is usually the first to fail, his voice shows very few signs of wear and tear.
Similarly evident is his fondness for the stage. Though he converses very little with the crowd (other than to inform that after 50 years in the industry he “still can’t work a mic”), he clearly enjoys the thrill and shows no disdain for playing the classics.
Two encores later, Simon eases back into his jacket and departs the stage, perhaps for the final time in Melbourne. Still, given his evergreen live delivery – and forgetting he’s only toured here twice in two decades – it’d take a keen gambler to punt on him taking a permanent hiatus from our shores.
