Live Review: Martha Wainwright, Tinpan Orange

Melbourne support act Tinpan Orange are the perfect precursor to Martha Wainwright. Three consummate musicians playing a variety of stringed instruments ranging from guitar and ukulele to mandolin and violin (at one point used for an impressive classical flourish – show off!), rounded out by frontwoman Emily Lubitz's incredible voice. Lubitz's voice shares some of the soft, almost childlike edges of Wainwright and this band's music touches on dark undercurrents of love, sex and death.

Martha Wainwright is a flirt and the audience loves her for it. Part Patti, part Piaf, she swaggers on stage, challenging the audience not to be swayed by her brash charm and a voice that can uplift and crush you within a single phrase. She is a mass of charming contradictions – beautiful, broken and brazen at once. In some sense, Wainwright's sound feels too raw and personal for a space as big as the Recital Centre. Her music demands intimacy from the audience and it would have felt natural to be crushed up closer, a drink in hand and a mass of bodies swaying with her rather than sitting in the dark. However, Wainwright is a powerful performer and her stage presence somehow makes a cavernous space seem intimate. There's nothing like sitting in a dark room amongst a group of people who are quietly being moved.

Wainwright's voice is like sandpaper and silk – raw and abrasive yet soft and strong and this is shown off to great effect in songs that are pared back with minimal, complementary instrumentation. She sings like she is laughing and crying at the same time and a surface-level sweetness barely conceals the sex and grit bubbling below. The variety of material presented is an absolute treat and a testament to the range of this musical tour de force. Wainwright's take on Piaf has the crowd fixated. She gives lengthy and detailed explanations of each song's narrative, but it is the fervour of Wainwright's renditions that provides the true translation, making the French seem completely comprehensible.

Some of the most precious moments in the set are songs Wainwright borrows from her mother – the late, great folk singer Kate McGarrigle – and aunt, Anna McGarrigle. Wainwright's performance of Proserpina (the last song her mother wrote before she died in 2010), backed by a small chorus but primarily stripped down to her lilting voice is mesmerising. Wainwright is like an unpolished gem. Hard and coarse, but precious and bloody beautiful. Above all, Wainwright is a great storyteller. This comes through not only in her music but also in the between-song banter where she invites the audience to share something rather than simply be voyeurs. Perhaps most impressive though is how Wainwright manages to swing her hips so wildly, whilst keeping her guitar perfectly still and singing at the same time.