My Death – David Bowie (Jacques Brel)
It was a toss up between his cover of Wild is the wind (Johnny Mathis) and this one. Used to hear this on the radio and learnt of ‘Baal’ and ‘Brecht’ through Bowie when the LP was released in 81/82.

Coil – Tainted Love (Soft Cell)
Coil completely decontructs Soft Cell’s dance floor hit, creating an elegy in the decade AIDS started making headlines.

Nature Boy – Jose Feliciano (Nat King Cole, et al)
I first heard this song in summer camp in 78 or so. It was played to me on guitar by a guy called Hans, he was one of the camp leaders. He tried to teach me how to play it, but I only mastered the jazzy chords a few years later. I found the song, which has been covered by many, on a Jose Feliciano album I found in our library. Since it’s the first cover I heard, it remains my favourite – though I haven’t heard it in years.

What Makes a Man a Man – Marc Almond (Charles Aznavour)
Almond brings more tears and a sob to this song than the slightly more understated Aznavour.

Lovelight – Robbie Williams (Lewis Taylor)
I was tempted to pick Robbie’s cover of The Human League’s Louise off of the same album, but went with Lovelight instead, because I didn’t know the song before I heard Robbie sing it. It’s one of those Hi-NRG songs I can’t get enough of lately.

Les Filles du bord de mer – Arno (Adamo)
This will probably be fairly unknown outside of Europe, in fact I didn’t know the song before I heard the Belgian singer Arno (ex-TC Matic) sing it live. It’s a crowd pleaser. Arno’s version slows it down, drags it out, makes it great.

Night and day – U2 (Cole Porter/Frank Sinatra)
Recorded for the Red, Hot and Blue album in support of AIDS charities and accompanied by a stupid video, this is one of my favourite U2 recordings. Obsessive love songs are the best.

Paper Thin Hotel – Fatima Mansions (Leonard Cohen)
Cathal Coughlan turns Paper Thin Hotel’s jealous lover into an axe-murderer. A left over from the sessions for the Cohen tribute album ‘I’m your man’, released on a sampler given away at FNAC.

Brother can you spare a dime – George Michael (Bing Crosby, et al)
Almost went with Somebody to love (Queen), but I’m really not that keen on the song, eventhough George covered it so brilliantly at Wembley. Anyway, I just wanted to include him. Love his voice.

Scorn not his simplicity – Sinead O’Connor (Phil Coulter/Luke Kelly)
Written by Coulter for his disabled son and occasionally sung by The Dubliner’s Luke Kelly. There’s many songs Sinead’s covered that I could have picked, not in the least Prince’s Nothing Compares to You, but this one is pure and lovely.

Better Days Ahead – Hothouse Flowers (Gil Scott-Heron)
A slow burner, a plea for love in times of trouble. Liam O’Maoinlai at his best, I think, forever hovering on the good side of sharp. It has a sax-solo that doesn’t get on my nerves. It was an extra song on the Flowers’ I can see clearly now-single, also a cover. I don’t remember ever hearing the original.

Heartbreak Hotel – John Cale (Elvis Presley)
John Cale has done my favourite cover of Hallelujah, the first version of it that I ever heard, long, long before it became fodder for the idols. But I’m picking his Heartbreak Hotel, because it takes a great song, demolishes it, and then rebuilds it. Really brings out the despair, as well.

By this river – Gavin Friday (Brian Eno)
Can’t have a list like this without our Gav. He picks a song, takes a good look at it from all sides, then twists himself inside of it until he thinks he wrote it. Then he makes you believe the same. He’s done that to Sinatra’s Cycles, Coldplay’s Yellow, Brel’s Amsterdam and Next, to Blue Velvet, Nina Simone’s Four Women, Hot Chocolate’s Put your love in me, his extraordinary cover of Singin in the rain, and many, many Kurt Weill classics. But I’m picking this more recent song, because it’s such an odd one out, and one of his best vocals.

Some of these songs, or their orginals, can be heard on this playlist I made in Spotify

Dubbed ‘The English Piaf’ by the British press, he does resemble a little sparrow a bit. The motorcycle accident he had three years go has left its marks. Marc Almond’s tough tattoos don’t obscure the fact he seems a little frail now. In his stylish suit he reminds me most of that other French chansonier, Charles Aznavour, whose work Almond has covered. I think he’s aging well.

On stage he admits he’s got trouble remembering his lyrics now and when, during a fabulous performance of Jacques Brel’s Jacky, he’s climbed on top of the grand piano, his tour manager has to help him climb off. Ouch. ‘I’ve done my back in,’ he says and grins and bears it.

Almond’s voice is strong. As always he edges a little close to sharp at times – a catty Dutch journalist used to call him ‘that off key queen out of Soft Cell’ back in the day – but he is always full of unbridled passion. Seasoned performers are the biz. And they need your support as much as newcomers, don’t be mistaking.

The venue’s filled up with ex-goths, you can tell. They don’t wear make up anymore – unlike Almond – but they’re still clad in black threads, two or three sizes up. They probably have well paid jobs, they are ‘creatives’ and they adore their MacBooks. Sorry, I’ve been working with tv demographics data a little too much lately.

It would be fun to drag a couple of emo-kids from their Evanescence concerts and show them what lies in store for them, Scrooge-like. I jest. I’d rather have this devoted but clearly geriatric crowd than cackling, texting, fickle  20-somethings. This lot know of Almond’s misfortune, that much is clear. Even before he’s sung a note, he’s welcomed with a thunderous applause and the crowd’s enthusiasm doesn’t wane over the full two hour show. They sing along, the hands go up, the tears run rings and hearts swell. We’re close to a conga-line here, it’s that kind of atmosphere.

I surrender, let myself go with the flow, but the camera’s lens creates a bit of distance. Just enough to realise there is not a lot of difference between a night out with Almond and evening with Engelbert Humperdinck, that’s entertainment. Marc is so very, very British. In Bizarro World he would probably make a fine Redcoat. In this reality, however, he’s just subversive enough to make it art.

I’d always liked Marc Almond’s work before, but as a live artist he was just a little too camp and over the top to really move me. He moves me now. The drama’s real and we all feel it. Back from death’s door, a miraculous recovery, just turned 50, from Sex Dwarf to Stardom Road… his opening song, Aznavour’s J’ai Vécu, says it all, really: I’ll explain my life and show you all I am and all I’ve been, and I’ll say for my defence that I have lived.

Seen: Paradiso Amsterdam, October 27, 2007
This piece is a loose translation of the review posted to my Dutch 3VOOR12 weblog.