Fog draped Sydney this week, even wrapping itself around icons like the Opera House and Anzac Bridge.
On Tuesday night, it curled outside the Metro Theatre too, where James Vincent McMorrow made his long-awaited return (3 June). He arrived onstage like a silhouette painting, a simple image: man, hat, guitar.Orange lights gave us the warm feeling of being by the fire and then he begun with one of my favourite songs of his entire back catalogue, 'If I Had A Boat'. I take it in, as does every human in that space.
At the back steps behind the sound engineer, I stood still. This night brought me out with post-its, a blue pen and a friend to a gig at the Metro in Sydney. When I interviewed James prior to his return to Australia, I heard about his joy for this side of the world and what it means to play here.
As he talked to fans after his first tracks, it felt like an extended interview. He's that kind of guy who invites you in and wants to talk and laugh with you. After the first few tracks, he spoke candidly: "In the history of kindness, that's one of the hardest songs to sing, so glad I started there."
Image © Rosie Robertson
I laughed with everybody else in the room. I also wrote it down and as I did, I dropped the pen lid. That phrase is so quiet you could hear a pin drop came to my mind. When James sung songs from the album that was released 15 years ago, time stopped.
Stripped-back acoustic sets like this don't just appear – they arrive, slowly, through years of quiet making. "Take me at my word, I love being here, and I remember all the shows I played in Australia." With that sentence you can hear a smile; he's taking this one for the scrapbook too.
James sings his lyrics and breaks them apart when he goes off into what I can only describe as soul cries. There's a gospel and ethereal sound that few artists can hold in their lungs – I can't unhear this and I don't want to.
Sure, it can be scratched on to vinyl records for us, but there's a reason we go to live gigs on Tuesday nights; it's so the music can take us somewhere else, and the artist can be a boat to that place.
Image © Rosie Robertson
'Higher Love' is a classic cover that has brought goosebumps many times over the years, but to hear it live and then hear a sippy ode from James to his mother, made it all the more a little bit epic.
I could leak the set list order and let you know all the intricacies that I happened to catch on my post-its, but because I was writing in the dark, I may have written over my own notes. Such is the way of life.
I'm listening to the album as I write this review, so it can pull me back to this night and I'm swaying with my friend to 'Early In The Morning', and that's just the end of side a of the evening. Interval happens and I think about trying to find my pen lid, lost to the floor; I'll just put the pen in my pocket facing up.
These moments in-between give us a minute to breathe what we've just witnessed and ask what more could he possibly do. He's played the entire album; could he be treating us to new songs? Is he going to do 'Cowboys Of Los'? Time will tell. Give it 15.
Image © Rosie Robertson
James returns to stage and starts with 'We Are Ghosts'. I can't lie. I know his music. I've listened to it for many moons, but to hear it like this where its just him and his guitar feels really like we've been moved back to the beginning, before the studio and record labels – we hear a man and the music.
'Poison To You' was played and the tears came. I cry at gigs, if I am moved. I held it well until this song. James sung our pain and held that chord for so long, it felt like a plea; and we were silenced. Again, he talked like an old friend – this show was one, long interview with the room.
If you were there that night, you'll probably remember different things to me and if folks were asked to pen their favourite moment or song that James played, some might have said, hands down 'Wicked Game'; or nah, 'Follow You Down To The Red Oak Tree'; or maybe they would say when he said he loved his mum.
When you get to the encore, you know what's coming. 'One More Before One More'. This was played with cheeky humour, and when I realised we were at the end, I looked to the stage to see James singing into the dust. He sang like someone who knew the weight of a first song, and the ache of a last.
Image © Rosie Robertson
Applause and feet stamping, the sounds of other humans take over, showing their true care for this artist. He thanks us and tips his hat before he exits. What a return for James Vincent McMorrow.
As he stepped away from the mic and back into the shadows, it felt less like a goodbye and more like the last page of a diary we didn't know we'd been writing together, and one that maybe we'd get to return to in time.
As the crowd dispersed, I waited around a little longer as the stage was de-rigged, and some of the keener fans waited for a paper copy keepsake of the set list. I know what you're wondering though, did I pick up my pen lid? Aye, I did. It's back on my pen and in my pocket waiting to write down some echoes of chords and lyrics that will sail with me for a lifetime.
Sláinte James Vincent McMorrow, you lifted the fog.
More photos from the concert.
