October 21, 1991

Publication title: Vancouver Sun, vol. -, Iss. -, pg. –
Place: Unknown
Writer: John Mackie

McLachlan Magic : Beauty Of Pure Voice

In the high-tech world of modern music, the ability to actually sing isn’t always a prerequisite for stardom. Provided you’ve got the proper physical attributes, know a few dance steps, hire a hot producer and songwriter and cut a way-right video, you can get away with a minimum of warbling. And hey, you can always get some snazzy gizmo to fix up your vocals so it sounds like you can sing.
When you run across somebody blessed with genuine singing ability, though, you realize there’s no substitute for a great voice. Witness Sarah McLachlan. McLachlan’s got the kind of voice that brings the word “angelic” new meaning : it seems to float through melodies, effortless, lighter than air. Then she’ll startle you by swooping into a nasty vocal that’s just this side of a scream – all the while imparting the full meaning of her lyrics with her emotional delivery.

Live, she’s something else again. Though she’s still a bit on the shy side when she has to interact with her audience, McLachlan shines when it comes time to trill and croon. Friday night at the Discovery Theatre, her abilities all came together on a spellbinding version of the old Billie Holiday wrist-slitter, Gloomy Sunday. McLachlan delivered the lyric with sorrow, pain and sad beauty, bringing life to the morose tale of a woman whose beloved has just committed suicide.

It was a risky chance to take – not everyone can get away with a Billie Holiday cover, or deliver the lyric with the soul-baring emotion it demands – but McLachlan made the song her own. It capped an excellent homecoming performance before 500 ardent fans at the Discovery Theatre (a seldom-used venue on the old Expo site).

Backed by a crack five-member band, McLachlan alternated tunes from her two Nettwerk LPs, throwing in a Talk Talk cover to spice things up. Shelter was given a gentle, vaguely folk-rock-reading, while McLachlan’s version of Ben’s song, solo at the piano, was almost transcendental, and definitely spine-tingling.

The quiet moments were balanced by tunes like Back Door Man and Steaming, which were surprisingly tough and aggressive. Sarah didn’t exactly rock out, but she did raise the energy level dramatically and spit out some lyrics with venom. The harder tunes were where the band really shone, particularly organist Dave Kershaw (who sported a devilish beard, and looked possessed) and guitarist Steve Nikleva.
McLachlan and Co. really reworked Steaming, but it was all the more fiery for it. Like, say, Elvis Costello, she brings fresh life to her songs by playing with them, allowing them to grow rather than just recite her recordings note for note. It’s a little more dangerous that way, but it makes things a lot more exciting.