Fiona Apple
Chastain Park Amphitheatre
By Michelle Gilzenrat
August 2nd, 2006

The sky hangs low and imposing as we wind down the back roads leading to Chastain Park Amphitheatre. Hollow rumbles of thunder echo far away and occasional bolts of lighting cut through the sky…there may not be a show tonight.

Once my friend and I park, we grab an umbrella from the trunk of the car-- just in case. It would be such a shame if Fiona Apple couldn't go on tonight. I've turned to her music through many moments of love and loss (ok, mostly loss), but this is the first time I've had the chance to see her perform.

While the ominous sky is still flashing intermittently, the clouds are kept at bay as Fiona appears on the stage. She howls back at the rumbling sky, growling through "Get Him Back."

She's such a little lady; so small in stature that even while perched on massive wedges in her sleek black dress she seems timid and fragile. But as soon as those powerful lungs open up she unleashes a fierce and commanding force.

Tonight her usually seductive tones are noticeably gravelly. It's hard to tell if the harsh delivery is intentional or not, but midway into "To Your Love" Apple starts to show signs of frustration.

A palpable tension mounts in the audience as Apple begins flailing hers arms in aggravation. Her face distorts with annoyance, and underneath the piano her legs are nervously grinding into the stage like a restless toddler.

We are holding our breath and crossing our collective fingers by the third song. It seems Apple's reputation for abandoning performances mid-way has preceded her. A fan in front of me rises to her feet, turns to face the audience, and starts cheerleading enthusiastically.

"Come on everybody! Fiona is in a bad mood! We have to cheer! Stand up! Stand up!"

I exchange worried glances with my friend, but hooting and hollering for "Shadowboxer" hardly seems appropriate. Not here anyway, where we're surrounded by soft tea lights and glasses of fine wine.

Irritably going through songs from her three records, Apple's behavior evolves from worrisome to straight out bizarre. At one point she violently lassoes her microphone cable in spirals until a concerned roadie runs out to fix the damage.

"I'm sorry, OK?" She barks at the tech as he slips away.

During the instrumental breaks in several of her songs, Apple lowers the microphone and starts yelling inaudibly. Is she singing? Is she scolding the sound guy? The intentions are unclear, but it looks disturbingly like a woman possessed—arguing with invisible demons. She shouts angrily, she stomps, she flails, she…dances? There's no telling what was going on up on the stage or in her head. Apple's erratic behavior is intriguing in its own way I suppose, but it's so intense that it detracts from the beauty of the music.

Apparently exhausted from her fit, at one point she collapses on the drum riser, sitting motionless with her head in her hands until the extended outro comes to a close.

After a few more songs spent hunched over the monitors, forcefully pulling her hair in and out of a ponytail, we do finally get through a well-rounded set.

There are moments in between the mania where the true depth of Apple’s songwriting does shine through; moments when her lyrical prowess demands introspection and when the soaring melodies produce goose bumps.

After completing the song “Oh Well” off her latest release “Extraordinary Machine,” there is a sudden and startling development on stage. She speaks!

"Thank you," Apple shyly whispers to which the crowd erupts enthusiastically.

It is alarming to hear that sweet, nervous speaking voice after witnessing such an emotional battle. Apple continues to feign normalcy, introducing the band members, and letting us know we are a wonderful audience.

The set continues steadily with Apple returning for a two-song encore including her breakthrough hit “Criminal.”

After about an hour on the edge of our seats witnessing the agonizing brink of meltdown, the lights come up and the show comes to its brief but complete resolution.

I exhale in relief, pick up my dry umbrella, and head home satisfied that neither Fiona's menacing temper nor the threatening sky above ended the evening prematurely.

www.fiona-apple.com