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Ute Lemper
Punishing Kiss Tour 2000

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Mark Jennett's review of Punishing Kiss

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   Though they are very different indeed, Ute Lemper in performance brings to mind the early Streisand - the pre-homogenized, pre-mass-marketed singer of the early 1960's. Streisand would sit on a stool, wearing a black turtle-neck sweater, a pinpoint spot on that characterful face, and she would sing the very essence of a song. Streisand at her best was an actor/singer who conveyed the story, emotion, and meaning of a song with intensity, intelligence, and conviction. Those characteristics define the power and potential for brilliance of Ute Lemper as well.
    Lemper defies classification. She draws on the tradition of Dietrich, Piaf, and Lenya, and her roots are in the musical theater where her greatest successes have been in the Kurt Weill repertory, tested material of great dramatic strength that continues to flourish through the generations. In her current concert, Lemper shines in her interpretations of classics like "Surabaya Johnny" and "Alabama Song" (from Mahagonny). (On the other hand, her new arrangement of  "September Song," in attempting freshness, only distorts the song into unrecognizable mediocrity.) Lemper knows her material: her comments appropriately aligned the materialism and hedonism of today's Los Angeles and Las Vegas with the hard-edged satire of Brecht and Weill's Mahagonny, where anything can be bought.
    Also drawing on past successes, Lemper made an amusing introduction to the chansons of mid-twentieth century Paris, the Paris of existentialism, of de Beauvoir and Sartre - "So sophisticated, so self-destructive! You could hardly breathe!" She sang Jacques Brel's "Port of Amsterdam" and a definitive rendition of his "Ne Me Quitte Pas." Nobody could do it better.
    But the point of this concert tour is to promote Lemper's new CD, Punishing Kiss, which is, as they say in the trade, a crossover attempt, moving from the musical stage repertory into more contemporary sounds. Some of the songs were commissioned from major songwriters resulting in a distinctly mixed bag - some excellent material and some not. Philip Glass' song "Streets of Berlin" works well for Lemper, evoking the dissociation of living on the edge in a divided and threatened city. The title song, by Elvis Costello, is instantly forgettable, but Tom Waits' "Purple Avenue" is a thoughtful elegy for lost, better times which Lemper sings carefully, avoiding the sentimentality that less perceptive performers might let slip in. "You Were Meant for Me," from Neil Hanson, seems a powerful arrangement of a not even slightly interesting song.
    The concert not only displays Lemper as an accomplished singing actress, but demonstrates as well a vocal instrument of power and beauty, with a wide range and the ability to go from crooning to full out belting. On the other hand, as a concert entertainment, this evening leaves a great deal to be desired. Neither a director nor a choreographer are listed, and Lemper could well have used both. Her stage movement was awkward, repetitious and unimaginative. In a club or cabaret setting this might be less important, but in a larger concert venue, it detracts noticeably from the overall performance. Though there were attempts at alternating more serious material with novelties and softer pieces with the heavier rocking, the overall pacing was distinctly uneven. The successful concert experience is a carefully programmed evening, calculated to carry the audience with the same kind of arching dramatic line as do the individual songs.
   
Still, Lemper is an exciting talent and should not be damned as she reaches to extend her range. The single best moment of the evening validated the entire effort - a new song by Nick Cave called "Little Water Song." It is a soliloquy sung by a woman underwater, being drowned by her lover, the softly sung lines starkly playing against the horror of the captured experience and the anguished emotion of the lyric. The audience grew thoroughly involved with this song, and, with the wrenching last line, an audible collective gasp could be heard.   

    San Francisco, April 13, 2000                                                                 - Arthur Lazere