Initials C.G.

INITIALS C.G.
Charlotte Gainsbourg
Hiro Ballroom, NYC
23 January 2010


An absolute dream come true for me. Charlotte, in the flesh, like a skeleton, could it really be the same person I've listened to over and over and over and watched on screen so many times? Standing four feet away? The show was amazing with an excellent song selection and by far the most emotional and emotionally draining performance I've ever seen. Her music uncovers desire and strength in me and is so personal to me- unlike anything else I have ever known. Her eyes were wet, black eyeliner circles around them, with a seriousness that rarely broke. Sadness was the overall feeling of the show with a really deep pain uncovered, exposed, and garish. The band was excellent, her guitarist played so raw and so loud in moments that were so unexpected. The high point for me was when she did my favorite, La Collectionneuse. The room was dark with slow circular lights and it sounded even more jaded, more broken, more dangerous, and more uneasy than the original. The only time our eyes met was when she had just started Dylan's Just Like A Woman. A moment I will never forget. The obvious crowd favorite was when she did her father's Sorry Angel. The French portion of the audience sang along word for word. It sounded perfect.

I like to think she was Balenciaga head-to-toe which she most likely was. I kept trying to figure out what it was she had written on her left hand in pen, like an 11 year old girl. She looked amazing. I've never seen anyone so small in my whole life. A writer said recently of her that she resembles a young Patti Smith, which at first sounded crazy to me, but last night I found myself thinking the exact same thing. It's strange how much her look has changed over just the last few years. Think back to The Science Of Sleep where she still seemed like a little girl. Tonight she was older, all adult. Every song seemed very emotional for her and deep. She needed those words and sang every line with nothing but truth. She played a lone snare drum from time to time, but near the end of the final song of the encore, Le Chat Du Café Des Artistes, she played with such conviction and such disarray that I can't even describe it properly. This was Charlotte deeper than Antichrist, playing her heart out and turning herself inside out, guts, pain, hurt, disillusion, and everything. Antichrist the musical? That would be putting it lightly. The show was much heavier than that.