I'm oftentimes a fool for clever wordplay and innovative song structure, but sometimes it's just the sound of a song--its atmosphere, its ambience--that speaks to me. Hearing about the recent fire at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City sparked a memory of an extraordinary concert I saw there in the fall of 1982; I remembered how sound takes on another whole dimension in that space, the largest Gothic cathedral in the world.
A few weeks ago, I was completely captivated by the live performance of a song I had heard only once or twice before. The circumstances under which I heard it were somewhat extraordinary, and I came away with a greater appreciation of the song as well as the artist who created it. I'd been aware of Canadian singer/songwriter Jane Siberry for some time, and although I own one of her albums I've listened to it less and less over the years. I never seriously considered swapping it for something else, though, because there's something about the sound of her voice that makes me want to be able to listen to it at a moment's notice. (Also, I love the line "Einstein reminds me of my dog.")
Within the last year, I read an interview with singer/songwriter Shawn Colvin in which she mentioned her high regard for Siberry as a performing artist. I made a mental note, thinking that if I ever had the opportunity I'd go see her. Then, shortly after September 11, I heard a song on the radio that literally moved me to tears. Granted, many of us were on short emotional fuses at the time, but it's been a while since a song affected me so powerfully. The song was "Calling All Angels" by Jane Siberry.
I was so broke at the time that I couldn't even afford to buy a copy of the song, but figured I would do so at some point. (I eventually did, after the events I'm about to relate transpired.) And when I saw an ad for a Jane Siberry concert and remembered Colvin's comments, I seriously considered attending. But I waited until the last minute to decide, and when I arrived I found the show had been sold out.
Although I was tired from work and it was late on a Friday night, I put my name on the waiting list and hung around for a few minutes. I was just about to leave when a woman came out from the auditorium, looked around at those of us hoping to get in, zeroed in on me, and asked if I wanted to buy her extra ticket. She said she and her friends had very good seats. When I asked her why she had an extra ticket, she smiled and said it was for me. She said she and her friends felt they would find the right person, and she was confident that she had. I stuttered my thanks and followed her to a dead-center seat in the second row. I felt destined to be there, to say the least, and thanked the fates for my good fortune.
Siberry didn't disappoint; hers was one of the best solo performances I've seen in many years. She impressed me not only with her music, but also with her persona and her stage presence. She held the audience in the palm of her hand for the entire two-hour show, and the final encore was "Calling All Angels," the culmination of an incredible evening.
"Calling All Angels" begins with a recitation of the names of a number of saints, accompanied by chords from an ethereal-sounding keyboard. There's a presence--an ambience--to the sounds, as if they were recorded in some great space. A few notes are struck on an acoustic guitar, and a heartbeat rhythm is introduced. Finally, the guitar begins playing the chords of the song, underscored by a viola, and somewhere in the middle of the first verse a piano joins in as well.
If you can appreciate the magic that sometimes happens when a gifted singer nails a certain song, I urge you to find some way to hear Siberry sing this one. I could pigeonhole her voice by comparing it to others, but to do so would be both inadequate and inappropriate. Although I hear many influences in her voice, Siberry is truly an original.
The combination of the solemnity and presence of Siberry's voice, the way it inhabits the space of this song, and her Zen-like lyrics is incredibly powerful. There are elements of knowingness, childlike wonder, profound sorrow, and delighted joy in her voice as she sings:
A man is placed upon the steps and a baby cries
High above you can hear the church bells start to ring
And as the heaviness oh the heaviness the body settles in
Somewhere you can hear a mother sing
Siberry's voice is as pure as a baby's laugh. It's crystalline, like the quieting whiteness of the first winter snow, yet as soulful as the grittiest blues singer. She sings this song so intimately that I envision her caressing the lyrics and melody, like a languorous lover might caress her partner with the finest silk scarves. Her voice opens up new vistas to me, ones of hope and possibility.
Then it's one foot then the other as you step out on the road
How much weight? How much? Then it's how long?
And how far? And how many times before it's too late?
On the original recorded version of "Calling All Angels," Siberry is joined by k.d. lang on the song's chorus. The combination of their voices adds to the majesty of the song, making it even more resonant and powerful. On the night I saw her Siberry invited the audience to sing along, and I was overwhelmed once again:
Calling all angels
Calling all angels
Walk me through this one
Don't leave me alone
Calling all angels
Calling all angels
We're tryin' and we're hopin'
but we're not sure how...
The second verse speaks about those moments when you feel as if you could "crack the code" and finally understand everything, and goes on to ask:
But if you could...do you think you would
trade in all the pain and suffering?
Ah, but then you'd miss
the beauty of the light upon this earth
and the sweetness of the leaving
The chorus is repeated, the heartbeat stops, and the vision that was the song fades away.
I know very little about Siberry's personal life, but to write a song like this I figure she must have been around the wheel a time or two. Perhaps she's a Bodhisattva. I'm just grateful I had the chance to be in the same space with her--to experience the same ambience--when she sang it.