Today's Irish Times reviews both Omara Portuondo and Ian Brown.
Omara Portuondo
Gaiety Theatre, Dublin
It may have been raining outside, coming to the close of another windswept St Patrick's Day, but inside the sun was shining, the palm trees were wafting, suntan lotion bottles were squirting and that gorgeous waitress was walking towards you with yet another Brandy Alexander.
Tony Clayton-Lea
Yes, folks, despite some people's misgivings about the appropriation of ethnic music for mass consumption (it's a middle-class dinner party thing, apparently), the enjoyment of it is unquestionably an issue of mood. And therein lies the rub: what works in a tropical location might not transfer to somewhere as dreary and grey as springtime Ireland, especially if you're not in the Mambo mood.
While this reviewer was largely unmoved by what he saw and heard on Sunday night, it's a safe bet to state that he was in the minority - simply put, Omara Portuondo, winner of the Glamorous Granny Contest 2002, came, saw and conquered.
The lead female singer in the Buena Vista Social Club, regularly dubbed "Cuba's Edith Piaf" (a description one should take with a pillar of salt), has been singing boleros and charanga music for over 50 years, and recording for over 40. Heading up a 13-piece orchestra - the musicianship of which was a notable highlight throughout the evening - Portuondo's stage presence amounted to little other than tirelessly exhorting the audience to applaud the musicians at every given opportunity.
Her singing was excellent, however, combining real emotion with a sense of longing in songs such as Veinte Anos and The Man I Love. This, mixed with the kind of mind-reading intuitiveness that comes with decades of performing, ensured the audience was on its feet before you could say "Havana good time".
Ian Brown
Olympia, Dublin
When the last bell rang for The Stone Roses, Ian Brown was voted the least likely to succeed. As the band flew apart, the Britpop torch was passed to Roses' guitarist John Squire, while the brothers Gallagher nabbed the Mancunian swagger. But Brown proved himself a prophet: three solo albums later, the man who once sang I am the Resurrection finds his messiah complex almost vindicated.
Peter Crawley
Brown's loose-limbed gait and long brow caused him to be compared to a monkey - he got the joke, and titled his first solo effort Unfinished Monkey Business. So on a revelling St Patrick's Day in the Olympia, he was entitled to some chest-beating. "I just got in on the banana boat," chanted Brown on opener Bubbles, flexing his biceps, and gamely modelling each article of clothing donated, sporadically, by the audience.
The straight-armed adoration of a largely male crowd bolstered Brown's laddish demeanour, echoing his choruses (not known for lyrical cadence) like chants from the terraces. Performing baffling mime routines and leading his own applause, Brown was an engaging presence. One-man light-show Aziz shamelessly wrestled for some attention as red sniper lasers beamed from each fingertip, flitting across an incandescent guitar-shaped novelty.
Frequently, though, Brown departed the stage to argue with the soundboard. He then became riled by punters, and the gig bumbled to a halt. It was third time lucky for So Many Soldiers and third time yucky for Whispers, barely recovering its groove after too many false starts.
Miraculously, the electro-funk workout of Love is Like a Fountain got Brown back into stride, segueing giddily (but briefly) into the loping intro of Fool's Gold. As a triumphant My Star concluded with no less than five a capella renditions of its final verse and The Gravy Train received a rabble-rousing encore, Brown had returned once again from the brink of disaster into the arms of worship.
