The second track on Antony's new live album, Cut the World, is a monologue called "Future Feminism." It runs nearly eight minutes. "I've been thinking all day about the moon," Antony begins. "Like, is it an accident that women menstruate once a month and that the moon comes once a month? ...And then what about the fact that we're made of 70% water?" It goes on like this, referencing "patriarchal monotheism," the matter-of-fact revelation that he's a witch who "de-baptized" himself," and ruminations on "the feminization of deities." Behold: Antony stage banter.
Antony's exquisitely earnest "Antony-ness," though, is the rare gift he brings to the world, and in whatever form he chooses to dispense it, it's a joy to soak it in. Running through Antony's gently daft speech are all the elemental themes of his music-- oceans, dying leaves, blood from wombs-- and he delivers it in such a chatty, affectionate, teasing tone that by the end, you are not only disarmed, but lit by a small glow of wonder. And then, of course, he resumes playing and singing.
For a sizable contingent of music listeners, Antony's music is like emotional tincture; powerful, necessary, sometimes a bit too intense taken undiluted. And certainly not for daily consumption. I am one of those listeners: Some innate measuring stick that calculated my desired intake of abject suffering balked at the need for another Antony record after his crossover album, I Am a Bird Now. That record still sits at the center of my listening life, but to add to it, for me, seemed only to chip away from its power, with the result that I found myself appreciating Antony from a distance, and feeling generally grateful for his existence, more than engaging with his music.
If you are one of these listeners, perhaps you will appreciate Cut the World like I did. As a compact reminder of the overwhelming force carried by Antony's best music. The song selection here draws smartly from all of his studio albums, touching on his self-titled and culling the most potent material from of The Crying Light and Swanlights. Antony is accompanied by the Danish National Chamber Orchestra, performing arrangements by Nico Muhly, Rob Moose, and Antony himself.
If ever an artist's catalogue has demanded orchestral accompaniment, it is Antony's. The emotional surge in his music all but demands the blooming of a string section. His voice dismantles defenses, pours over boundaries, and this quality is mirrored so powerfully in the arrangements that the originals seem incomplete in retrospect. He has performed in front of a full orchestra often over the years, but Cut the World is the first sustained glimpse those of us outside the hall have gotten of the results. "You Are My Sister"'s opening piano figure carries twice the drama brought into pungent, mournful woodwinds. "Cripple and the Starfish" swells magnificently to twice its size in this setting: It feels Mahlerian, overwhelming. The DNCO plays with a simple radiance, as if they've always been a part of this music.
The only song that feels diminished is "Another World"; a low drone tugs at track's harmonic center, muddying its elemental, prayer-like surface. But otherwise, this is a revelatory way to experience Antony's music. The inward-curling pain dissolves, leaving only the aching generosity. The title track, the lone new song, starts with a soft rustle of harmonics akin to those of Arvo Pärt. When the full orchestra enters on the chorus, the bloom of warmth is physically gratifying. Antony's music is like that-- restorative, good to be near. Like the sun, it's something we all need in our lives, even if it feels good to get out of it once in a while.
