Barb Jungr
The Flea Theatre, New York

Sandra Lawrence

European cabaret is so different from the Broadway-style American cabaret that I cannot help but curse the English language for its paucity - we have umpteen ways of saying how we like to take our tea, but can't be bothered to make up two extra words to describe polarities in entertainment.

Barb Jungr has long been a force to be reckoned with in Britain. An unashamed, unreconstituted, unrepentant radical, her fiery interpretations of chanson and cabaret have been delighting the strong-stomached for years. A woman with no time for empty platitudes, Jungr's work deals with real life and real pain. Her style is fiercely beautiful.

Her first Linn album 'The Space in Between' looked unerringly east - at continental Europe - for inspiration. Artists such as Piaf and Brel have an honesty in their writing - and performance - with which Jungr can identify. Going to the effort of having their material re-translated, and, indeed writing her own material, is testament to this. It's hard work, that album. It demands a listening, refuses to be background, but rewards, in spades, the listener prepared to put the kind of effort into appreciating it that Jungr poured into its creation.

Her second Linn offering, then, is a bit of a surprise. Bob Dylan? Are you sure?

It soon becomes clear, listening to 'Every Grain of Sand' that Jungr is prepared to find the kind of passion she so admires in chanson in any song or writer who proves themselves worthy of the title 'artist'. Bob Dylan, she proves, has the kind of honesty and clarity that one would expect from a Brassens or a Weil. He just uses a different medium. Thankfully choosing to ignore the 'Mr Tambourine Man'-style oeuvre, each number she selects makes you think 'Oh - but of course - now you mention it, it's obvious…' Jungr has recorded these songs in her own unique style - never once resorting to mere cover versions, and in so doing, has neither eclipsed the original nor denigrated her own version - rather used each rendition as an ornamentation of the other. You can't just own the Dylan recording or the Jungr version - you need both.

Of course, this could all go horribly wrong when trying to translate the concept as a live show across The Pond. There are those who would consider any deviation from the hallowed original to be sacrilege, especially by someone Not American. And we've already noted that America has a totally different concept of cabaret. Classic US-style cabaret is Showbiz with a capital S. Not that there's anything wrong with that - glamour&glitz is one of my favourite words in our impoverished language, and the true cabaret greats can cut glamour&glitz better in New York than anywhere.

But they're not always known for their tolerance of other styles. Fifty years ago, when the great Edith Piaf first brought her uncompromising blend of Gaulouises-drenched Parisian street doggerel and heady emotion-soaked passion, frankly the chic New York cognoscenti found it all a bit rich for their blood. It was only a column by an influential trend-maker that turned her into a star.

They like her now, Piaf. But on the whole, judging by the amount of classic American cabaret still on and off-Broadway, they still prefer home-grown glamour&glitz.

I was fascinated to see how Barb Jungr would go down in New York City - especially a Post 9/11 New York City. She was to be playing songs from both her albums, none of which are what one would call 'easy' songs. Would the emotion prove too much - embarrassing, even - for a New York crowd?

The Flea Theatre is a charming Off-Off-Broadway venue in Greenwich Village, a long, wide room, which at first didn't appear to be an ideal shape for cabaret. The grand piano, set centrally, seemed almost swamped by the shape of the stage area, and Jungr's lonesome stool looked uncomfortably vulnerable.

But this is the atmosphere where Barb Jungr works best. Cosy would too easy for her. She wants - needs - that edgy atmosphere to show her work at its best. And after a while, the chic brown velvet walls and sleek wood flooring began to work - and it became obvious why she had gone for such a venue. Top New York accompanist Charlie Giordano was an inspired choice to sit at that grand piano - the two gave the distinct impression that they had worked together for years - the signs of true professionalism - and there was a palpable mutual respect. The careful lighting both enveloped and highlighted her so that when occasionally she stepped out of the light, it became a moment of drama. And she did make the odd glitz&glamour concession - she looked stunning for starters - her spiky hair as sophisticated as those cheeky red stilettos peeping from the hem of her designer gown; her slash of red lipstick reminiscent of the trademark Piaf who so shocked the New York socialites all those years ago.

When one watches a Barb Jungr performance, one may not feel comfortable with all her material - she'd hate that - but one always feels totally convinced that she is in control. She strides on, commanding attention, and for the show's hour or so's duration, that attention never wanders. Her material is rock solid - every word considered - and with not an ounce of fat. Barb Jungr doesn't believe in fillers.

Songs such as 'Tangled Up in Blue', 'I'll Be Your Baby Tonight' and 'Not Dark Yet' are disturbingly appropriate in such a setting. They're grown-up songs. They sit well - both with the set - which also included Brel material such as 'La Chanson des Vieux Amants' and Piaf - 'No Regrets' - and with an American background. Jungr sang them beautifully - there was never any doubt that that would be true - but the command she lent them was majestic. After one or two of the numbers I felt a slight second of unease - perhaps she had touched a nerve here and there - but the applause following that moment proved that the experience had been worth the emotional effort. You don't get bored in a Barb Jungr show. And the audience appreciated the gravitas. She confided, she related, she emoted, she even giggled, but by that last song, 'Forever Young', she had us convinced she was singing for each of us individually.

There is no way she won't be going back. Soon.

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