Live Review: Paul Kelly & Charlie Owen

Paul Kelly and Charlie Owen released Death's Dateless Night back in October. It's a strangely conventional listen, despite being about death, and those left behind.

It's not without merit; many songs are given new life by Kelly's open and empathetic reading of the (often traditional) material. Cole Porter's Don't Fence Me In reveals an unexpected poignancy, and the central line of Let It Be is given renewed clarity and strength. It's just that the record seems to linger in the purgatory of 'acceptable' when you compare it to his larger body of work. It was a stroke of genius that the two decided to give these songs a home ground advantage, and to offer people the chance to connect with them on a deeper level and enjoy a fuller understanding of the power song plays in rituals of remembrance.

The cathedral was low lit, with people filling out the pews in the dark. Owen and Kelly played underneath the pulpit, throwing tall shadows against the organ pipes lining the walls. Kelly's nasally voice floated in the air, seeking out corners and hidden places. Its weathered purity suited the room. Owen's understated scrapings and metallic twangs provided light when needed, shade in turn. Bright songs like To Live Is To Fly and Nukkanya (a South Australian Indigenous word meaning 'see you there') felt fine and light. Sombre tales like the Irish lament The Parting Glass and Pretty Bird Tree were truly touching, and his inevitable main act closer How To Make Gravy sounded revelatory in this new place. As the night closed, Meet Me In The Middle Of The Air seemed to reach into our chests and cradle our hearts in its hands.

More than anything, Kelly is a humanist. It makes sense he would view the church as the best place to bring to people songs of deep sorrow and joy. Once you strip away the cold mechanical institution that governs it, it is a place of solace and transcendence. As with music, it can heal people. Kelly likely knows this better than most.