December 8, 2024

L.A. Mitchell – Pitt St Methodist Church: December 7, 2024

In the sacred intimacy of Pitt Street Methodist Church, L.A. Mitchell delivered 90 minutes of pure, raw emotion and love for music in its many varied but uniquely moving forms. Last night’s solo performance was nothing less than an unforgettable night reminding me why live performances matter.

Mitchell’s Meaningful Work solo tour wove together original songs, reimagined covers, and stories that felt more like open-hearted confessions. It wasn’t just another performance; it was a milestone moment in my musical discovery – one that reminded myself and the audience of music’s power to connect, heal, and celebrate humanity.

Over six years and more than 500 concerts, I’ve seen my fair share of gigs. Some fade into the background; others stand out. Only twice have I been moved to tears by the sheer beauty of live music. The first was hearing the Teskey Brothers perform Rain at The Powerstation. The second was L.A. Mitchell last night – a seemingly mythical musical creature who channels the best of Joni Mitchell, Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse, and Adele, yet is entirely her own.

The venue itself felt alive, humming with a palpable energy – decades of love, grief, and hope stitched into its walls. I’m not religious, but there was no denying the weight of that space. Against its ornately carved windows and storied history, Mitchell’s music didn’t just fill the room; it became part of it, imprinting itself in a way that left the place better than she found it.

Mitchell opened with Listening for the Weather, a Bic Runga cover that set the tone for an evening steeped in warmth and reflection. She spoke of her decade-long hiatus from releasing original music – a period spent navigating family life, collaborating with her husband in their folk project Terrible Sons, and recalibrating her creative priorities. Last night, we were fortunate to sit with her at the piano as she unpacked pieces of her journey through song.

LA Mitchell

Her originals, like Maybe Tomorrow and Apple Heart, carried themes of emotional resilience and empathy, each steeped in a raw honesty that made them deeply relatable. A standout moment was Mother, a lament inspired by the tension of motherhood – the longing of her children to feel her presence and her own yearning to give them more of herself. It was a song that celebrated the complexity of loving and being loved, and the room sat rapt, absorbing every note.

Interspersed among her originals were covers that felt less like reinterpretations and more like personal conversations with the audience. Her duet with the crowd on Amazing Grace (a scenario that usually makes my blood run cold) turned into one of the evening’s most magical moments. Mitchell’s warmth and encouragement coaxed even my gravelly voice into harmonising with 30 strangers. For a few fleeting minutes, we were a choir – messy, imperfect, but united in the joy of singing together.

Lilac Wine, a Nina Simone classic, was another highlight. Mitchell’s delivery felt intimate and almost confessional, her voice threading through the room like smoke curling in the air. And her take on Natural Woman (Carole King) was not just a cover but an homage, delivered with reverence and a depth that left the audience awestruck.

What made this performance so unforgettable wasn’t just the music but the atmosphere – a perfect storm of Mitchell’s vulnerability, the audience’s attentiveness, and the room’s quiet majesty.

Songs like Shake My Heart and Eagle felt timeless yet achingly fresh, carrying a weight and depth that lingered long after the final note. Mitchell performed as though she were rediscovering each piece in real time, drawing from the energy in the room to shape the setlist organically. It wasn’t about perfection but about connection, a shared experience that was deeply human.

At one point, Mitchell led us through a brief vocal workshop – an unexpected yet oddly delightful interlude that tied back to her passion for teaching. Her work with Revive Your Voice workshops, where she helps women explore the physiology of singing, echoed through her performance. It was a reminder that music is not just about sound but about breath, connection, and expression.

LA Mitchell

And then there were moments of pure, unfiltered joy – her rendition of Elton John’s Bennie and the Jets, seamlessly interwoven with her own Love Will Rain, was a standout, a burst of manic-but-measured piano and vocals that electrified the room with unpredictable but consistently joyous energy.

For me, last night wasn’t just another gig. It was that rare milestone moment, the kind of experience that makes all the late nights, bus rides, and sacrifices not just bearable, but worthy of the sacrifice, the easiest yet most noble of decisions to keep doing this with every bit of me I can because this is what you can discover in a musician sharing their lifelong relationship with creative musical expression and playing to an intimate audience.

L.A. Mitchell’s style of performance isn’t just to be heard, but to be felt. Her fluid, piano playing, equal parts gentle and commanding, felt like listening to an old friend tell a story. Her voice, with its ability to rise and fall with raw emotion, was a gift. It wasn’t polished for the sake of perfection; it was real.

Midway through I had to resist turning to Marty and whispering “I know you’ll think this is blasphemy but this is what I think The Dresden Dolls should sound like’ and it’s those moments – the unpredictable and shocking ones, the introduction of a discovery that challenges or shatters the status quo of your long-cemented ‘Immortal G.O.A.T Musicians’ list.

As I sit here with the hand-noted song sheets I earnestly requested from Mitchell to let me take home, I’m struck by how much beauty there is left still to discover in the world, even in the last places you might expect, and even by me – someone who until this morning had almost convinced himself there was nothing greater left to discover than the best I’ve known so far.

How delightfully happy I was to be proven wrong about that last night.

Oxford Lamoureaux

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