Live Review: Grace Jones, ​Silent Jay & Jace XL

There's more fabulosity in the punters' outfits milling about Palais Theatre tonight than we've seen before, which can only mean one thing: "Heeeeeere's Grace!" And one would never wanna be caught in one's trakkies around she who doth defy any definition available within the human realm. 

Silent Jay & Jace XL are onstage when we enter, just after 8pm, and they couldn't do any more than they're doing. "My mum would be so proud," Jace XL admits and they're genuinely stoked to be warming up the stage of the legend that is Grace Jones, supplying her congregation with some background music while they share their excitement and exchange favourite tracks/videos/memories of how they were first turned onto the majesty of Jones. There's one lady dancing in the aisle and Silent Jay & Jace XL just look rapt to be here. Then we notice punters drinking alcoholic beverages out of plastic receptacles inside the venue. What? Yep, we're told by an usher that as of two weeks ago the no-alcohol rule inside this venue changed. Best we join that ridiculously long bar queue, then. 

We never expected her to hit the stage on time. She's eraned her right to be a diva. There are a few antsy people with clenched jaws jigging around and holding the backs of seats in front of them, though - guess they didn't factor fashionably late into their drop o'clock estimation. House lights dim. Those in attendance whistle and/or squeal. The advertised 8.45pm kick-off is actually 9.22pm (not too bad). Nightclubbing. Grace Jones appears, somewhat elevated upstage, body painted like a skeleton in a corset and wearing a gold mask. Her black pashmina draped across her shoulders and headdress plumage blow vigorously thanks to a wind machine. She gets her foot caught in some flowing fabric and casually kicks it free with one fuck-off stiletto. The backing band play in darkness for now, we don't need to see anything but Jones under a spotlight, and when she places her headgear up on her forehead oversized gold sunnies are in place, but we still feel her intense energy. The only colour in her outfit comes thanks to neon bangles and anklets.

Private Life. The audience is still seated. Why? Jones would most certainly disapprove and we wait for her to say something. Every costume change raises cheers. "I always love to do this track for you," Jones admits and all finally rise for I've Seen That Face Before (Libertango) - so early in the set? - as images of a young Harrison Ford watching an even younger Emmanuelle Seigner dance seductively float through our mind's eyes (thanks to that scene in the film Frantic). After simulating a vigorous hand job with the mic stand, Jones sculls a generously poured glass of red wine ("you've got great wine!" she enthuses) before singing Warm Leatherette with a giant cymbal in each hand, which she crashes to punctuate each "warm". She's now wearing a hoop skirt with some kind of fairlit adornment. Jones is a deadset goddess. Not of this earth. "I need a big spliff," she confesses before My Jamaican Guy, during which Jones pulls shapes like she's on a photo shoot, working those limbs that go on for infinity. Her voice is flawless throughout. "Would you ever say I'm too much?" Jones inquires to which a punter screams, "NOOOoooo! MORE!" She then jokes, "I don't want to fuck no more, I'm tired." Then a second later, "Me never tired. Oh, god, no." Jones then spruiks sexercise, claiming it's great because you don't realise it's exercise "otherwise you wouldn't do it!" The crowd is absolutely cracking up. 

A pole dancer comes on for Jones's new, yet-to-be-released track about growing up in Jamaica and has obviously not yet been seen by Jones as she gushes, "Oh, that was wicked!" in response to a particular contortion. Jones is on fire with her banter: "That's not wine. Oh, I think it's coke, but the wrong kind." She requests a stool and then gives the stage hand the run-around, changing her mind about where she'd like it placed. Jones eventually perches on the stool, wearing a few flowing red accessories during La Vie En Rose. Jones confesses she "cheated" at this song's conclusion: "I honestly missed that really high note." Her eight-piece backing band remains largely in the dark, in Jones's shadow, throughout, but we're in awe of the sounds they create. 

Jones madly bashes at a drum during her ancestral track Williams' Blood and we feel her ancestors coursing through her - such a powerful track. After this, Jones tells us it's actually her mum singing the high notes in this song on the record. The power of her voice while singing Amazing Grace is startling and we're taken to the church although she's clutching a stripper pole, but it's far from blasphemous. She customises the words, "That saved a wretch like - little me, skinny me, strange me..."

Always chatty while she changes costumes, Jones confesses that while she's supposed to wear something special for Love Is The Drug, but it's "too hot" tonight. Thankfully she still dons her trademark mirror-ball bowler hat which lasers bounce off to spectacular effect. There are also mirrored sections on her bodysuit that ricochet beams of light. "Let me feel your love!" she hollers, requesting that we belt out the, "OH-OH!"s at full volume. Jones mounts a security guard's shoulders while dressed as some kind of badass zebra to travel down one side aisle, across the middle of the venue and down the other side, all the while smiling at and high-fiving fans during the irresistibly catchy Pull Up To The Bumper. She's in the finest of form now, admitting that singing live is "like an orgasm". "Oh, god, yeah, I'm cumming in all orifices. It's all your fault." 

And now for the hula-hooping masterclass. Jones demonstrates her gyrating prowess for Slave To The Rhythm's entire duration, even introducing her band - including son Paolo Goude on percussion - all the while rotating that hoop. "I don't mean to sound like a whore or anything, but I like to joke about sex," Jones shares, before explaining it's probably because she couldn't talk about it when she was growing up. "Still feel guilty, I always cry when I'm cumming," she reveals and now we're doubled over in hysterics.

For our encore, Jones embodies Hurricane, in profile wearing a billowing black cape while negotiating a sidestage wind machine. After this song, she calls out for her technical team to join her out onstage and some of them need to be physically dragged out. Jones's train gets stuck at one point and all she needs to do is call' "Oh!" for assistance. A local girl Jones intros as Mandy, who we're told is a local girl responsible for applying Jones's body paint tonight, is ushered out before us to collect her applause. Jones then calls out for Jerry Poon, the tour agent/promoter who brought her out to Australia and he's handed the mic to say a few words of thanks after Jones slaps him firmly and fondly on the ass a couple of times. He touchingly refers to Jones as, "Your Highness". Jones leaves us with the following advice: "Don't stop partying as long as you're hot!" She then promises that she's got a new record coming "for the summer" and we can only hope that means the European summer. Long may kween Grace reign.