Great Moments on Video №7: Peter Gabriel – Mercy Street

(Lycabettus Theatre, Athens, October 5-6, 1987)

Peter Gabriel – Mercy Street

(Lycabettus Theatre, Athens, October 5-6, 1987)

I must confess that, as a rule, I am far more visually attracted to shows which place the music, and the musicianship at the center, rather than the actual «show» elements. «Rock theater» at its best can be quite entertaining and stimulating, but if it is a music show we’re talking about, it should never ever come at the expense of actual music. Sometimes clashes between the two are unavoidable even if the artist is smart enough to try and observe a proper balance — for instance, Alice Cooper, in his live shows, almost never forgets that a good sound, proper singing, and a strong musical backing is essential (he tends to always put his guitar players in the spotlight, for instance), yet most people still go to an Alice Cooper show to see the show, not so much a bunch of live musicians expressing their emotions. Were Alice Cooper to perform his show all to the sound of backing tapes, he’d still sell just as many (okay, almost as many) tickets as he usually does. Much to his honor, he does not... which still makes him «a showman with integrity» rather than a «musical genius» (which, to a certain degree, he just might be).

That said, the main reason of this indifference, especially when it comes to the «artsier» side of the spectrum, is that I tend to be pretty indifferent to modern theatricality as a whole — much, if not most, of the time it just leaves me emotionally cold. I can always appreciate the creativity, I can soak in and analyze the symbolic value, but it’s just usually not something I can truly sense on a gut level, which has to be involved if we are really talking great art here. There are occasional exceptions to the rule — like, for instance, nearly the whole entirety of Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense performance — but they only serve to reiterate the idea of how goddamn difficult it is to make «modern art» which could literally shake you down, rather than just put in another checkmark on your «What Humanity Has Managed To Achieve So Far» list.

Peter Gabriel, whether in his classic Genesis days or even as a solo artist, after he’d seriously toned down the theatrical aspects of his shows, typically offers a good example of what I’m talking about — the shows are entertaining, but too often detract from the music rather than add to it; not a tragedy, since the music can still be phenomenal, but just as Peter’s surrealistic videos had, at one point, almost led people to think more of him as a visual than a musical artist, so do his concerts often continue to be theatrical rather than musical events. Yet every once in a while, some miracle occurs in which the visuals and the music complement each other so perfectly that the sum ends up far greater than the individual parts.

And it’s a double miracle if this combination suddenly feels more relevant to your own current life than it ever was before — and no, «relevant» is too dry a word here. Bone-chilling? Knife-sharp? Murderously painful? Let us talk about ‘Mercy Street’ and, specifically, the way it was performed on Peter Gabriel’s 1987 tour, as captured in the overall excellent Live In Athens concert movie — of which it is, beyond the slightest doubt, the absolute highlight.

In my original, decades-old review of So, I wrote that ‘Mercy Street’ is "simply mood music... most of the time, it puts me to sleep". Not a very brilliant or original or instructive evaluation, but, funny enough, probably true at the time, and even now, as I relisten to the original studio version, I can’t help yearning for a little more... intensity? There’s just a bit too much of that New Age spirit in the arrangement which always blocks me from falling under the spell of a track like this. Even if I knew all the details about the song at the time — its being inspired by the sad tale of Anne Sexton’s life and death — which I did not, that would hardly move me in the right direction, though I’d probably have tried to be more gallant about the wording.

Nor, truth be told, am I a big fan of all the later reincarnations of that song on stage; for instance, this version, as performed on Peter’s Growing Up tour in 2002–2003, in all aspects stays rather faithful to the So vision of the song and, to me, feels at best «touching» rather than «shattering». Or this, even later, version, played with a full orchestra in 2012 — again, I appreciate the extra bells and whistles (almost literally), but, like a bunch of pretty ornaments on a Christmas tree, they do not turn the song into something completely different, they just give you a bunch of extra details to feast your eyes and ears on.

However, there was a time, back in 1987, when ‘Mercy Street’ on stage was a completely different beast — and a beast it was — than its tamer, contemplative, dirgey studio incarnation. Even musically, it was grimmer and darker: Tony Levin’s bass slaps harder and harsher than in the studio, and midway through (around 4:20 into the video) a reverb-heavy guitar riff cuts its way through the arrangement, sounding not unlike a Dave Gilmour The Wall-style rhythmic pattern, to bring in an atmosphere of inescapable doom. Predictably, we don’t even see any musicians around at all — all the focus is on Gabriel — but this time, it is forgivable, since all the instrumental parts are supposed to be de-personalized anyway.

In this lengthy (the whole thing runs about 3–4 minutes longer than its supposed running time), minimalistic spectacle, we have two key players — Peter Gabriel himself, and the lighting rigs, which are there not only to make Peter look good, but also as an independent player in their own rights. Who exactly he is impersonating remains unclear; the most obvious suggestion, given the song’s context, would be a patient in the mental hospital (and his white coat does look a bit like a straitjacket from far away, anyway) — but my more immediate associations are those of a decrepit hobo sleeping in and crawling through the gutter, or, perhaps, of a dying soldier on the battlefield. Of course, any of these might work, and all of these might work at the same time.

I won’t dwell too much on how impressive it is to be able to sing so perfectly while crawling around the stage or curling up in a fetal position, for one simple reason — I am pretty sure that those vocals are, at the very least, corrected and edited, or, perhaps, even completely re-recorded in the studio, as they simply sound way too clean and pitch-perfect for such a performance. Nevertheless, we should all cut Peter some slack on this one; I’m sure the impression made on the audience that night, even with less-than-perfect singing, must have been every bit as strong as the impression that the video produces on modern viewers.

Instead, I’ll state a much more important observation: in this particular staging, ‘Mercy Street’ becomes something much, much bigger than an empathetic ode to the ruinous effects of depression on human life. The first part of the song — actually, the «song» as such, which is mostly over by the time that merci-less guitar riff comes in — is all about the interaction between Peter and the lighting rig, which sometimes feels like a David vs. Goliath kind of thing, and sometimes like a Jacob vs. the angel kind of thing. The rig may be thought of as symbolic of cold, mechanical, gigantic human technology, especially when it menacingly hovers over Peter, all but poking him in the face or in the ass — but it also shines a light, which puts our little hobo in plain focus and casts an almost sacral aura on his face at times. This little joint pseudo-dance performed by man and machine is one of the most fascinating bits of musical choreography I’ve ever seen (every bit on par with David Byrne’s dancing with the lamp in ‘This Must Be The Place’, although that one conveyed a completely different attitude).

But the most important part of the performance, really, does not even start until the song is almost over — and this is precisely the part that would never be reproduced again. These are the four-plus gruelling, devastating minutes — right until the outro — when the sad, sympathetic, tender, might I even say soothing qualities of the song suddenly fade away and are replaced by outright horror. That combination of Levin’s thumping bass, David Rhodes’ grimly chugging guitar, relentless pursuit of the lighting rig, Peter’s contorted poses, and his desperate pleading for mercy which apparently falls upon the deaf ears of a naturally merciless fate — well, look no further if you want to find the perfect depiction of the depths of human desperation. At 5:30, when he tilts his head up and the light shows his face in close-up (actually, for the first time during the entire performance, I think), we see that it’s got a credibly Christ-like sheen to it — would that be Gethsemane or Golgotha? — and as pretentious as it is, I almost find myself believing that this is precisely the moment during which Mr. Gabriel frees us from all suffering by channelling all the ills of society within himself; the perfect master of illusion.

Having rewatched this performance many times over, I now know better not to give into it too recklessly, because every time I do, those final climactic moments with the screaming are simply too much to bear — you start getting visions of terminal cancer patients, or starving inmates in concentration camps, or innocents lying with their guts hanging out after rocket strikes. That weak, soft, helpless shriek he lets out at 6:35 is a hundred times more chilling than any power scream from the most iron-throated metal singers in the world — a cry of agony so realistic that it literally hurts. Do not watch this by any means if you’ve recently lost someone and the wound is still fresh, because the power of this delivery can even reopen some long-closed ones.

Altogether, this has long since ceased to be a eulogy for Anne Sexton; it’s clear here that all of humanity is at stake, as symbolized by Peter’s lonesome hobo character. To play it all out completely straight-faced and not descend into corny pathos is a talent given to maybe just a tiny handful of people on this planet; it’s just so good that Gabriel could be one of them in his prime (not that I’d want to speak ill of his subsequent shows, but it is unquestionable to me that as a stage artist, he really hit his peak in the early-to-mid Eighties).

This contrast between the two parts of the performance actually makes the coda even more poignant than it was in the studio version — as you go from a soft mix of sadness and empathy to a harsh mix of desperation and horror, you can’t help but wonder which of the two shall win in the end? And the answer is — neither, as the "Anne, with her father is out on the boat... riding the waves... on the sea" conclusion is precisely when all the emotions are suddenly and brusquely cleansed, so that you end up with a cold statement of fact. There’s no answer here. Just a cliffhanger, ending on an extended Tony Levin bass note which, when translated into English, reads TO BE CONTINUED, THOUGH PROBABLY NOT IN YOUR LIFETIME, YOU POOR SOD. Well... at least some of us are still alive at the end.

One might, of course, argue that Peter strays a bit too far here from the original intent of the song; that there is too much darkness, that somehow it has evolved into an end-of-the-world nightmare instead of a sentimental, idealistic appeal to humanity to try and show its good sides instead of the bad ones, that both the studio version and the later, softer, sweeter live renditions are more in line with the original concept. I beg to differ. I do not know the real reasons why Gabriel never resuscitated this version later — my best guess is that he might have found it too difficult for himself not to break under its weight as he got older. But I do know for sure that it is this version that, for better or for worse, awakens what humanity is still left inside of me — that it is these several minutes of "looking for mercy", and not any others, that make me want to examine myself on the issue of whether I have, voluntarily or not, ever caused any cruelty to others. I never cared that much about the "weak medicine" in art — this (as opposed to politics) is where you have to go all the way to achieve your goals, and this performance of ‘Mercy Street’ is an artist giving 100%, nay, perhaps 200%, for that purpose. It soothes, it tenses up, it terrifies, it tears, it slashes, and it ends in an enigmatic ellipsis so that you can supply your own ending. It’s symbolism-drenched rock theater, and it’s also the painful reality of life.