Beth Gibbons ended her engrossing set at the Met with a giddy little jump, a rapid, enthusiastic wave to the audience and a big smile. It was an uncharacteristically animated moment to end an evening of quiet grandeur and subtle dynamics, with few signs of the trip-hop trappings of her work as the lead singer of Portishead. Gibbons spent most of the night hanging on to the mic with two hands, leaning in, hair draped over much of her face, on a stage backlit in mostly purple and blue, with the spotlight on her mesmerizing voice and her impressively versatile band.
Philadelphia was the second night of her first solo U.S. tour, and she performed all the songs from last year’s excellent Lives Outgrown, a few from Out Of Season (her 2002 album with Rustin Man, a.k.a. Talk Talk bassist Paul Webb) and one Portishead classic.
The evening began with a brief set from Cass McCombs, who wisely showcased his moodier material. (He’s an agnostic dabbler in indie folk, skiffle, folktronica, jam-band grooves, prog-rock freakouts—in other words, enticingly hard to pin down.) Abetted by Brian Betancourt on bass and keyboards, McCombs used his too-short, six-song, 30-minute set to showcase the consistency of his talent. “Not The Way” (a track from his 2002 debut EP, with an extended guitar solo and some falsetto vocals) was a highlight, as was the just-released “Priestess” (which name-drops both Ella Fitzgerald and John Prine’s “Angel From Montgomery”).
Gibbons, on the other hand, kept the focus on the present. Lives Outgrown was borne from grief (the passing of loved ones, the sorrows of aging), and the album has echoes of Marianne Faithfull in her torch-song guise. Live, though, the songs became more intense and more complex, veering toward goth eeriness.
The seven-piece band of multi-instrumentalists was fantastic, particularly Howard Jacobs, who was stationed centerstage behind Gibbons, encaged by racks of percussion and guitars and wind instruments (bass clarinet, flute, sax) so he could jump from one to another mid-song. Two violinists often anchored the arrangements, giving “For Sale” an orchestral heft behind its ominous refrain of “If we don’t stop here, will we go too far?” and turning “Whispering Love” into a beautiful freak-folk meditation. The arrangements were meticulous, drawing on Ennio Morricone’s cinematic soundscapes for “Lost Changes” and relishing in percussive dissonance for “Beyond The Sun.”
Gibbons’ voice provided the calm center amid the swirling arrangements; it’s clear and steady at the lower registers and breaks slightly as it ascends. It’s captivating and mesmerizing, and the audience at the Met often sat in rapt, respectful silence between songs. Gibbons barely acknowledged the crowd—a tip of her water bottle in reply to a shouted “Philly loves you, Beth Gibbons,” a self-deprecating smile when she flubbed the opening of Out Of Season’s “Mysteries” (which then turned into one of the most beautiful songs of the set). When the band extended the feedback-laden coda of “Rewind,” Gibbons receded to the back of the stage. Her reticence throughout the evening seemed apt: The songs were mysterious, thoughtful and contained, and between-song stage patter might have disrupted the spell.
The show was a succinct 75 minutes, ending with an encore of Portishead’s “Road” (transformed from its trip-hop origins into stately ballad) and Lives Outgrown’s “Reaching Out,” but it didn’t need to be longer. As Gibbons sings on “Floating On A Moment,” “All we have is here and now,” and that was all we needed.
—Steve Klinge; photos by Chris Sikich (shot one night later in Washington, D.C.)
