Regina Spektor Town Hall September 27, 1006 Written by Eve Hyman

In a black billowy dress, high red suede boots and red lips, Regina Spektor looked the part of a hip young chanteuse who counts the Strokes among her fans. Town hall is sold-out, full of admirers of the twenty-five-year-old Russian-American Bjork or Bjork meets Curly of the Three Stooges fame. It’s not just her hair; there’s something very Yiddish theater about Ms. Spektor. (I’m sure she’d consider that a compliment). Far from being Bette Midler-esque, Spektor uses her impressive voice to deliver quirky comedic content and she accompanies herself with a piano rich with bass and shifting rhythms. Regina Spektor is an original: beautiful and silly. The audience eats it up.

She starts the show alone on stage with just a microphone. Her impressive voice is supported by just one finger hitting against the mic – creating a heartbeat. The steady pulse crescendos and then drops down to the lightest touch, the dynamics in line with the lyrics. The stage is lit with a shadowy backdrop suggesting tree branches and leaves. The forest back drop fits the sound as Regina howls and whispers at intervals.

Regina Spektor’s vocal style is like a traditional Russian dance with legs flying, kicking from a kneeling position. Her voice is strong and then drops out. She shares intimate insights like she’s telling a secret. The audience is in on it and we smile to be a part of her unique world. “I wish you hadn’t broken[[]./` my camera because today we’re younger than we’re ever going to be.” There are the songs that highlight her childlike genius; she convinces you of her fear of a doll in the window of the neighborhood ninety-nine cent store. Her banter between songs fits her lyrics: “Is someone smoking weed?” she asks, “It’s starting to get to me. You won’t get arrested, but could you go outside?”

Her lyrics evoke literature: “Esra Pound - can you spare a pound of flesh to cover his bare bones? What’s a pound of flesh among friends?” The variety in her storytelling is broad and impressive. In one song she describes a boyfriend and compares him to F. Scott Fitzgerald. The chorus tells of how he “doesn’t love his girlfriend.” She uses her voice like a DJ with a turntable, breaking up notes and modulating tones, adding effects and moans. For the last forty-five minutes of her set, a band joins her on stage with drums, guitar and bass. The sound changes and it’s exciting – until I realize the band isn’t quirky or dynamic or unique. They don’t seem to share Regina’s vision, certainly the drummer doesn’t. He bangs away in his own private stadium while the piano and electric guitar combination are reminiscent of an Elton John musical score.

Thankfully, Regina’s recordings are her own. You get all the smart playfulness minus the big band. From cabaret to post punk, Regina shines. On stage at Town Hall, her red boots and big, sexy hair are great accessories for her sound. “Begin to Hope,” her latest album, is a follow up to 2004’s “Soviet Kitsch.” Her lush voice almost distracts you from her playful lyrics; lyrics that manage to be foolish and wise at the same time.