Grace Jones Electrifies New York With Eye-Popping — and Hilarious — Show: Concert Review

Grace Jones was one of the most iconic artists of the early ‘80s, with a boldly androgynous and prescient image and string of brilliant albums with a pioneering sound and expertly curated covers that combined R&B, new wave and reggae into a fusion that has been echoed everywhere from Rihanna to Massive Attack and beyond. Now 75, she’s continued performing but hasn’t released an album since 2008, and seemed to drop below the radar for all but her fanbase, influencees and the LGBTQ and Pitchfork audiences, until the past few years, when the brilliance of her “Warm Leatherette,” “Nightclubbing” and “Living My Life” albums became even more undeniable.

Yet even fans who’d seen her shows in the past probably were not prepared for the eye-popping, mind-blowing concert she staged as part of the Blue Note Jazz Festival at New York’s Hammerstein Ballroom on Wednesday night, which mere words cannot do justice. Her always-deep voice sounds as great, her outfits and staging are as provocative as ever, and she could give Mick Jagger a literal run for his money in terms of fitness and dexterity at a certain age. Best of all, for all her hauteur, diva-tude and icon status, she never takes herself too seriously and every outfit, headdress, and staging touch had an undercurrent of humor that’s sadly lacking in most artists — and her stage banter is absolutely hilarious, although the humor often lay less in what she was saying than the way she said it (still, lines like “Why do you need a dick if you’ve got a dildo?” land in a multitude of contexts).

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The show began with her ace nine-piece band laying down the smoky groove of her cover of Iggy Pop and David Bowie’s “Nightclubbing” until the curtain raised to reveal Jones, elevated some 50 feet above the stage, singing from atop a fully extended cherry-picker, wearing a weird red helmet and a black-and-white dress that literally extended all the way to the floor. She struck poses in between verses, to the delight of the crowd, and the cherry picker gradually lowered her to the floor and stagehands gathered the voluminous dress as she walked toward the front of the stage.

With a set that leaned heavily on her classic trio of albums, she changed costumes between every single song, talking to the audience while she changed, flitting between her native Jamaican accent and the dry New Yorkese of her adopted hometown. At various points she wore a giant hoop skirt that she playfully danced to exaggerate its spinning; sang “Love Is the Drug” wearing a glittering porkpie hat illuminated by a single, laser-like spotlight high above the stage that constantly changed colors; went into the crowd for several minutes while singing atop the shoulders of a beefy security guard; and climbed back into the cherry picker and sprawled herself across the railings, lying down while singing at one point and finishing the song with some backbone-stretching dry-humping while perched across the railings. “Ow,” she said when she was finished. “Why did I do that?”

In perhaps her second-most impressive feat of physical endurance, she performed her now-familiar trick of not only singing an entire six-minute song while hula-hooping, but continuing while she walked down from an elevated platform — in five-inch heels — and didn’t stop until she’d reached the side of the stage.

The show wound down as she sang “Hurricane” in front of a giant fan while wearing a huge, crescent-shaped headdress and a big, black, billowing cape as faux-lightning flashed. “It’s some scary fuckin’ shit up here!,” she said as the song began. “It’s scary!”

After she finished the song, she spoke of a venue curfew and launched into a loose, a capella version of her disco-era first-ever hit, a cover of “La Vie en Rose,” while her bandmembers gradually sauntered offstage, apparently assuming they were done for the night. After she finished the song she said, “Should I introduce my band?” … then turned around… “Where the fuck is my band?!” After some more comic banter, she bid the crowd adieu.

Grace Jones is 75 and puts one of the most eye-popping and musically and visually satisfying concerts you will ever see. Madonna, whose tour launches next month, has her work cut out for her.

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