Camille at the City Recital Hall

CAMILLE
City Recital Hall, Sydney
22/01/09

Sometimes, as good as their records are, you need to see a musician live to fully appreciate their art. Camille is a perfect example of this.

It was clear this was going to be different from your average gig when the Parisian crawled onto stage like a cat and launched into her distinct style of French chanson by clicking her fingers, beating her hands against her chest, and whinnying like a horse. She was then joined by her band for an a capella version of La Jeune Fille aux Cheveux Blancs, after which a piano was the only conventional instrument used in a distinctly unconventional Bossa Nova sound that showed gleeful disregard for anything resembling classic musicianship. Backing vocalists clicked their fingers, rubbed their hands together and mimicked guitar sounds with their voices. Two male singers created a drumbeat by banging their feet rhythmically on a microphoned plinth. A skipping rope whooshed, perspex wobbled, two beat-boxers duelled, drumsticks tapped on top of the piano and hiccups were used as percussion. On paper, this may appear dangerously close to pretentious performance art – the sound of people’s heads disappearing up their own backsides – but in reality nothing could be further from the truth. Camille’s vocal – which jumped between French and English – was magnificent regardless of whether she was scatting or hitting the high notes, and the strange ways of creating melodies and beats weren’t merely enjoyable because they were inventive, but because they sounded so fucking good.

There was a lot to suggest that Camille lands somewhere between a little eccentric and totally bonkers. She stripped a shirt from a male vocalist and one from an audience member to fashion a makeshift skirt for no other reason than because she felt like it, ran in circles on the stage simply because it looked fun and stuck her head in the grand piano mid-song, well, just because. At one stage she changed into an evening gown which deliberately revealed most of her bum.

The crowd, who started the night reserved and reluctant to embrace the singalongs, demanded three encores, which included Ta Douleur and a cover of Yes We Can Can. This particular reviewer would be happy if Camille was still encoring now, as the experimental 90-minute show was moving, funny, intriguing, mesmerising and a triumph for innovation and vivid imagination. Absolutely mind-blowing.