The last time I saw L’Orchestre D’Hommes-Orchestres (let’s stick with LODHO, it’s quicker), they were performing the songs of Tom Waits. I can’t say I’m that familiar with his work, but it was certainly well suited to LODHO’s skiffle-cum-junkyard style of instrumentation, which made use of everything from washboards to teacups to create a wonderfully ramshackle, but incredibly well orchestrated performance. Tonight’s performance turned to the work of Kurt Weill for inspiration, running the gamut of melancholy, witty and disturbing in their exploration of this 1920s German composer.
Perhaps best known for his collaborations with Bertolt Brecht, Weill is one of those composers whose work you might recognise even if you don’t realise that he wrote it. Many of his most famous works, such as September Song, My Ship and Mack the Knife, have been endlessly adapted and reinterpreted as jazz standards by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Sammy Davis Jnr, Frank Sinatra, but LODHO makes an effort to give their Weill set-list a brand new twist.
It’s not easy to explain how LODHO construct their instruments. Imagine a group of drunken Weimar-era Berliners running through a giant junk shop with their arms out and then figuring out later what to do with the random assortment of clothes, hats, hammers, wool, medical equipment and water jugs… The show is littered with powerful and often disturbing images, including a slender woman with a white stocking over her head rhythmically spraying her face with liquid from a perfume diffuser, a man attempting to sing past strings of pearls as he stuffs them incessantly into his mouth, or the rather shocking sight of a heavily pregnant woman intoning a song whilst smoking a cigarette.
Making full use of the rather more macabre side of Weill’s oeuvre, the concert was book-ended by two incredibly arresting performances: starting with a beautifully poignant rendition of Speak Low and ending with a delightfully, disturbingly brooding version of Ballad of the Drowned Girl during which the stage was lit only by the vocalist singing breathily into a lamp that reacted to the strength of her voice, burning and pulsing brightly with every drowning breath.
I’ve seen LODHO perform twice now, but they seem endlessly inventive and darkly delicious, with this concert feeling surprisingly different from its predecessor. I’m curious to see what they come up with next.
Rough Information 