Review and photos - Amelia Curran at Times Change(d), Winnipeg, Sept 27 2009

– text by eugene osudar/photos by Dallas Ludwick

Andrew (mostly)
plays bazouki,
a long-necked
lute,

as Amelia strums
her acoustic guitar

and springs
(perfectly) her
on, the, beats,
syllables from
(carefully) her
constructed
clay words
sculpted
into
enchantments

these statues
float
inside
your imagination

in the ether

and
listening
to these songs
these little
works of art

i’m thinking

L Cohen
and that’s a good
thing

tempo
and
poetry

rolling
tumbling
syllables

her caring
delivery

flowing
this stream
freely of
music
bazouki
and acoustic
guitar
and words

her crafted
words
and thoughts

and
then
sometimes
Andrew plays
a banjo
but Amelia
always strums
her acoustic guitar

she digs
the clay
from the dreams
and images
of the everyday

from her memory
from her ghosts
from her now
these poems

Last Call

“dance with my shadow
on into the bar
midnight is marked
by a broken choir
and the red-faced
prophets
are claiming their fame
but i don’t remember
their names.”

16 songs
65 minutes

Scattered and Small
Tiny Glass Houses
Love’s Lost Regard
All The Ladies
Hands on A Grain of Sand
Bye Bye Montreal
The Mistress
Furious Curve
Wrecking Ball
Ah, Me
The Dozens
You Won’t Find Me
Julia
Last Call

encore,

Everything I’ve Got To Give
Love’s Grave

Hunter, Hunter
the new CD.

Tiny Glass Houses
begins and i believe
i’m listening to
a new Suzanne
a little faster
of tempo
and temperance
but it’s Amelia Curran
a chapter
in her life’s song
book,
collected
verse,
“there’s a crack
in my memory
as if something has gone
and
split the foundation
of shadow of song
and
rattled the windows
and the tiny regrets
and the tiny glass houses
that i’ve tried to forget.”

“i was so alone
I’m scattered and small,”
she sings in her first
song,

in this perfect setting
and this perfect time
a Sunday
night
at the Times
Changed
High and Lonesome
Bar
Winnipeg’s first day
of autumn
it’s cool outside
and hot inside
the heat’s been
switched
on

the bar packs
up

50 when Amelia Curran
began at 8:20 PM
and as every song passes
more and more and more
stream inside
caught in Amelia’s
current
this rising tide
60,
70,
80, 90 and finally
the bar is packed

very unusual for
an early show

and there are a few
left
on the outside
waiting
and listening

there’s quiet
there’s active
listening
going on
inside

internal reverie.

“I’m having the illusion
i’m wearing my pajamas
like a nightmare
you have from elementary
school,” she tells us
she’s tired.
this touring

this vast country.

“i’m guessing you’re okay
with the sad songs,” Amelia
says
before Love’s Lost Regard,

“when you abandoned
all manner of me
for concrete
and angel’s ashes
there’s nothing to serve
but your own
memory…
Lovers don’t love you
silver don’t lead to your door…
what haunts you the most
only lives to outlast.”

All The Ladies
L Cohen
tango style
scorned
love
tale.

“Hounds are brooding in
my bones
but i am a good dog
running half
way
home…
all hands on a grain of sand…
all the colors
you can see
cover the borders of a masterpiece
time can paint the best of me
over the unclear eyes
of memory…”

now,
i’m finally hearing the
motif
of memory.

i’m finally
actively listening
enraptured.
in these poems.
in this now.

“We’re all comedians
now in Newfoundland.
We used to be fishermen,”
she jokes before

Bye Bye Montreal
home of L Cohen
and my favorite
city in Canada.

“if you’re in town
you’ll look me up
dance the days
into the cups…
bye bye years
of deals and dolls
bye bye Montreal…”

The Mistress
is a gorgeous
poem
(in the style of L Cohen
but he’s no Amelia Curran
and could never
write these
deadly words)
set
to music
this perfect
sculpted
masterpiece

“hello it’s me
the mistress
is there anybody home
cuz the last place i should be
is sitting here alone
all i ask for forgiveness
if you’ve got some
give it here…
will you need me in the summer
will you need me in the spring…
i’ve got a page in my back
pocket
of the seven deadly sins
and it’s dragging me around
among
the needles and the pins…
you had me by the Bible
and
you had me by the belt…”

incendiary words
explode
stronger and madder
this madness
of The Mistress
and the delivery
is perfect
and there’s unity
there’s unanimity
in our response
sublime/
performance
and song.

this is when
the show
strikes
hard
strikes
home.

Wrecking Ball
Ah, Me
The Dozens,
(“it’s about how wicked
i am”)
these three
songs
are all L Cohen/like
in their perfection
in their creation

saucy and sensual
The Dozens,
“all my lovers
think i’m lovely
in the morning
when i wake
when i roll
in folds
of slumber
when i caress
i give and take”

Ah, Me
“lovers with their bleeding
hearts
who talk like silk
and touch like darts
in brazen secret paradise…”

memory
L Cohen
poetry
perfect tempo
and delivery

the motifs

Julia…
“queen of hearts
pleased to play
the part
the casualty
of everything
the fatal arrow…
the hum and ring
of the broken strings
cannot contain
what they don’t
discard…
Julia
pages have been turned
on a book of poems
your lover learned…
queen of hearts
you’ll never reign…”

sincerely
demanded
the encore
received
belies
the pain
of
Everything I’ve Got To Give
and
Love’s Grave,

“all your blues
are royal
crowning
every night
and every
tender toil
either frailty
or fright
is it keeping you
in line?
are you careful
all the time?”

memory.
poetry.
Love.
Loss.
Regret.
we
were
moved.

sincerely,

e osudar

(little
insignificant
reviewing
me)

Amelia Curran
September 27
Times Changed.