Grace Jones Returned to Roseland
‘[Thank God] there are no critics here.’
Having sipped a glass of red wine and forgotten the lyrics of her classic cover of ‘Ma Vie En Rose,’ Ms. Jones collapsed in laughter and seemed a bedazzled mess. Begging playfully for forgiveness from her audience and apologizing in French, she instructing her band to restart the song and restarted the song. Nowhere near as messy as some audience members (watch those curvy Roseland stairs, gurl !), Jones was ever the stunner we expect. Gagging the audience with her costumes (frocked mainly with high-end shmatas from the likes of Gaultier, McQueen, and Miyake) and millinery treats by Philip Treacy, Jones kept serving us body, body, body in a black top and high legged thong. She puts Gaga and the rest to shame with her on-stage antics. At an age that many of us may never see (‘Middle Legendary’ perhaps?), Jones’ grace in teetering heels and panther-like moves seemed effortless and definitive. Just like her command of the stage.
‘Do you have my fan?’ as she donned fringed jacket and matching hat. ‘[He is] having his cock sucked !’ as a lighting director fails to light a spotlight on her on her cue. “I’m over here; no one’s over there!”
And then there were her self-admitted lesbian moments, reminiscing over a female friend somewhere in the sea of revellers or calling her wine bearer a ‘hot mama.’
Playing for a full-on two hours, New York underground ate her up for every minute of that show. And gave us all a fine reason to celebrate an early Halloween, work a look, and forget (for a day or so) about the impending shitstorm, Hurricane Sandy. And for that Ms. Jones, we will always love you.
This Is Life
My Jamaican Guy
I’ve Seen That Face Before (Libertango)
La Vie en Rose
Well Well Well
Love Is the Drug
Pull Up to the Bumper
Slave to the Rhythm