Regina Spektor Is A Language Poet

I don't know that I'm using the term right, but this is the title that came to me.

Last night I went with Michael and Caleb and Serge to the Wiltern to catch the Chanteuse.

Regina Spektoralicious. I had written her an email a long time ago back when she was more of an unknown. A friend gave me Soviet Kitsch which I found to be full of ecletic talent. I never heard back, but you know, big deal. I don't like responding to strangers either -- ("Yo, Regina, check out my Myspace.")

So over the last few weeks, I've been streaming "Samson" online. The song always moves me in the way that songs that reconfigure iconic Biblical imagery into the personal are prone to do. How beautiful. She must of have been the other woman that Samson dated. Or Delilah wasn't a total bitch, it was love-play. He must have looked so cute with short hair.


Every time I've heard it, I've been a little awed by the beauty of her voice, the twinge of foreshadowing that graces her telling of an old myth, the intimacy, the poignancy, oinancy, boinancy. . .I've shed tear. That's all you need to know.

So I was looking forward to seeing her live, because I'd already experienced the recording as a personal encounter.

What I liked about the show, I will share after I say what I didn't like about the show.

Overall, I loved the show.

But there was a pitch problem with the auto-screaming that started when Regina appeared. Michael explained to me today that a lot of her fans are young girls, hence the pitchiness of the screaming. The screaming! The SCREAMING! It was intense and unpleasant. Admittedly, I had had an espresso before the show, so maybe I was on edge, but I thought I wasn't going to be able to take it. Thankfully, at some point the auto-screaming stopped and they actually started responding to her in real time and there was phrasing and dynamics to the screaming -- which I was cool with.


Dammit. Maybe I'm just an old bitch.

She has a childlike quality, mostly represented by an outfit consisting of empire dress and black tights, and holding her elbows out to both sides when drinking from a plastic bottle of water. I liked it better when in the middle of the set once she'd warmed up-she took a swig with one hand like a real woman.

Her voice is amazing. Elastic and fearless. She's at her best when she's doing incredibly clever, experimental songs, or singing immaculate compositions like "Samson." With the former, she's almost onomonopoetic in the way that she's willing to expand, contract, parse, cluck, croon, bellow, fartdance with her voice. With the latter, her gifts as a songwriter, poet and interpreter shine undeniable shines. The material in between these two poles seemed to be less memorable vehicles for vocal experimentation. Her range and control is consistent and impressive, but sometimes the flawless performance seemed led more by whim than song content. She would step out of the songs to repeat phrases in a way that seemed intended to highlight the "liveness" of the performance. This was definitely interesting, but I found it easier to adore her when she simply used her considerable skills to serve the songs.

She got on stage during the encore or maybe it was before with the young man who opened the show for her and he beat boxed and she sang with percussive abandon. I liked that, too.