Went to see Daniela Mercury last night at BAM. A curious venue for this Brazilian ball of fire, but she pulled it off — had the audience on their feet for the last third of her show, which is a real accomplishment in that place and with that crowd. The audience there is usually at least half subscription audience that has no idea what they are seeing but hopes for a pleasant night out. Granted there were a lot of Brazilian fans in attendance — mostly girls by the sound of the screaming — so there was a built in segment that was enthusiastic and appreciative.
The show was that curious Brazilian mixture of beautiful music, incredible grooves, expert musicianship and “show”. It was filled with tightly choreographed moments, practiced exhortations to the audience, big sweeping gestures and pulsating grooves and catchy tunes. To my biased sensibilities music and “show” sometimes run counter to each other — when I’m too aware of the “show” I feel that the heart of the music is in danger of being abandoned in the process. If I become aware that I’m being manipulated, as in a Hollywood movie, I resist. Up to a point I hold my ground, but then, if the music is infectious, I surrender.
Brazilians are not unique in turning incredible singers and composers into showmen, but they are persistent and accomplished at it. I suspect the acts must feel obligated to provide a full evening of spectacular “entertainment” for their public, giving them their money’s worth, so to speak.
For the most part Daniela is not hokey or cheesy, as many performers who dip into these waters can be. There are no obvious cheap theatrics. She’s also a class act — while she’s sexy and beautiful, she doesn’t hump the air, come on to audience or band members or attempt to shock or titillate. She’s the image of an intelligent woman thrilled to be singing and dancing.
The line that separates “show” and deep heartfelt music is both real and imaginary. A performance can be moving, inspiring and therefore, we assume, heartfelt, when it is actually the craft at work — at its most subtle and hidden. It is assumed that a “show” is insincere and a performance in which the stagecraft is not evident is therefore more real and authentic.
It’s assumed that Bruce Springsteen’s performances, either the hushed acoustic ones or the exuberant arena shows, are, for example, totally unscripted and therefore completely heartfelt. Though anyone with eyes can tell they must be totally scripted.
Likewise every EMO band you can think of. The performed display of heartfelt emotion is a finely tuned act. There are conventions and stratagems for achieving the effect, and these are used as necessary.
British performers are notably skilled as eschewing obvious stagecraft, as if it would be shameful to be seen to be pandering to a crowd. This is the land of bands who perform, while staring at their shoes, songs of raging intensity. But there’s a stagecraft there as well, it’s just obscured behind a well-constructed denial of stagecraft. But underneath it’s still there. Convoluted to be sure — acting that you are not acting. But it works. The gestures may be smaller, purposely amateurish and clumsy, faux casual or careless, but all of this is studied and honed and an accepted part of this particular stage culture
Granted, maybe a super skilled showman, as I remember James Brown being in the early 70s, or Celia Cruz, can make you suspend belief and feel that it’s all happening at once — that the stagecraft and the power of the music are one and the same. The stagecraft, the timing, the skill in directing and shaping an audiences attention can be transparent — we can know that we’re being manipulated — and be effective at the same time. You can be aware that you’re being sucked in, seduced, but thoroughly enjoy the experience at the same time.
Chinese Opera and Kabuki do that, so do sports, in another way.
Though it might seem that I’m saying that we’re all a bunch of fakers, I’m not. Deep feeling, intelligence, powerful emotions and sincerity are not mutually exclusive to stagecraft. In fact, pure emotion without stagecraft is often not very effective. It doesn’t get communicated without the element of “show”. A person crying or wailing is powerful, but it doesn’t reach us, it’s pure emotion with no way of connecting to us. It needs to be shaped, molded, crafted — and then we understand and can feel what the performer wants to communicate.
This shaping doesn’t make it less true, it just makes it in a form that we can absorb and feel. That’s the art of it. When it’s done well, or when we have a predilection to identify with it (not everyone loves a Brazilian singer, or Bruce, even) then it becomes part and parcel of the music itself — they work in harmony to touch us.
I think it’s fascinating that we as an audience can hold this apparent contradiction in our heads and hearts. We can be genuinely touched and moved, and be aware of the how the machine does it at the same time. We can see the man behind the curtain pulling the levers, but if it is done well it doesn’t diminish our enjoyment.
Daniela has incredible energy. She dances almost constantly and sings with a full voice without seeming to pause for a breath. The first half of the show she didn’t even pause for a drink of water as we Northern acts constantly do. The stage was clean, no towels, water bottles or monitors (except, inexplicably, 2 wedges up front.) Hmmm. She said she can do this because during carnival in Salvador she is up on the trio electrico (a sort of moving bandstand on a flatbed) for 6 hours a day, constantly singing and dancing.
Daniela looks to be in her 40s — though she moves and sings like she’s in her 20s. From the audience one cannot tell, but I ran into her and her mom at the São Paolo biennial last year when I was on tour in Brasil and was pleasantly surprised to encounter a real person — open, unpretentious, comfortable, and with some little lines in her face. I thought to myself — she’s human after all. After the Brooklyn show a few of us went to a nearby restaurant and after a while Daniela showed up, with about a dozen women in tow.
