The More Joe Cocker Worked Himself and the Public Up, The More He Rolled Up the Sleeves of His Black Shirt
Performers usually make a spectacular entry onstage. They emerge in the halo of spotlights and footlights. Joe Cocker came out when the stage was still dark. His black silhouette slipped out from behind the curtain and immediately drew a burst of ovation. Great performers need no artificial effects, such as fireworks, special gilded tubes from which you must plunk down in the middle of the stage, or mind-boggling costumes. It should be just the other way round: all of the above can only distract you from the singer’s voice and face. This is way Joe came out in his traditional black.
Joe Cocker immediately set a high pressing pace. He started with pieces from his latest album, No Ordinary World . And although the performance was brilliant, his true devotees, who know by heart the intonations of all songs (I among them), still noticed he did not use all the one hundred percent of his vocal capabilities. His voice sagged a little. This probably reflected the artist’s fatigue, for he was at the end of his world tour.
However, the more he worked up himself and the Kyiv public, the more he rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and the quicker this feeling vanished. Like a stoker, he was shoving more and more spiritual coal into the emotional furnace of the hall. He got terrific help in this from his high-class backup musicians. This is especially true of the saxophone player and the keyboard man.
Many could not understand at first whether it was a man or a woman playing the piano. And only when a powerful and brawny shoulder cut through the shock of long hair did it become clear it was a man.
The mad, bubbling light, and wonderful solo improvisations by the musicians, sometimes up to five minutes long, worked the audience into a frenzy. And when the crisp and drumming rhythm of the piano blended with the plaintive squeals of the saxophone, to be followed, under the applause, by Cocker’s fantastic voice, emotions onstage and in the hall ran high in consonance. Which is the ultimate goal of any art.
However, I repeat, Joe was slightly short of topping his super hits like “Summer in the City,” which require a breaking-point spiritual strain. On the other hand, unexpectedly, his more run-of-the-mill and less-known numbers, never prominent in his albums, sounded more heartfelt and charming in concert. They only gained because of the singer’s artistic skills, i.e., ability to sing quietly but cordially if necessary (which Alla PugachСva began to do as she grew older, in fact repeating one of her first experiences, cooperation with Michael Tariverdiyev in the film The Irony of Fate, or Here’s to You ).
But this quality also sounded in a traditionally powerful way when Joe sang his classic ballad, “You Are So Beautiful.” Sensitive ladies in the hall even shed a tear or two. The singer’s characteristic hand movements, his famous finger dance, also contributed to the adequate perception by the audience. He seemed to be repeating with his gestures each note he sang. And though the singer was somewhat tired, he still managed to touch the audience. Thunderous applause accompanied him from the first number to the last (sometimes it broke out not only at the beginning or the end but in the middle of a song, when Joe struck a chord in the already touched audience with an extremely moving intonation).
Cocker did not spare himself. In the end, he sang a few dynamic rock- n-rolls. He would even jump enthusiastically — a la rock-n-roll — at the final stretch of each song. In other words, Joe was making an all-out PHYSICAL effort. But he never sang his legendary, full of bitterness, great blues “Night Calls.” He perhaps lacked the SPIRITUAL strength to do THIS KIND of thing.
Going offstage at fifteen past nine, Joe Cocker never came back. And although the audience gave him a wild standing ovation, he did not sing an encore. To make the audience understand the futility of their attempts, the organizers turned on the lights. The spectators began to scurry away like cockroaches. This comparison is quite to the point because of the unending feeling of regret: we wanted so much to partake again of this musical dish. Our hunger was not satiated. Cocker worked professionally and greatly for almost two hours, but this was clearly too little for Kyiv audiences hungry for masterpieces.
That Joe did not perform some of his trademark numbers requiring spiritual fire (out of this kind of songs, he only sang with abandon “My Father’s Son”) showed that it is difficult to be a god, especially if you are human. And this even brought him a little closer to us in purely human terms.
Sitting with some friends in a cafe late at night, I watched (again, not without regret) a green trailer truck with concert equipment slowly rolling out of the Ukraine Palace to take the joy of Cocker’s art to other countries and continents.
Joe’s magnetic aura still haunted me the next morning. No sooner had I opened my eyes than my head was immediately filled with superb melodies and a stocky gentleman in black went on to wave his hands, as if conducting the orchestra of my soul.
