Winter in Rear View: CAMERON WINTER, LIVE AT THE SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE 16/02/26

Vance McDonald Reviews: CAMERON WINTER, LIVE AT THE SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE 16/02/26

Anyone can tell that Cameron Winter will be a decade-defining musician. Many have already said as such. Of this many, only a select few were lucky enough to see the man of the hour at Sydney’s most prestigious concert venue — the Sydney Opera House Concert Hall.

Positing the Sydney Opera House as a barometer of international success may need qualification; ACCOR, Qudos, and the Hordern will undoubtedly draw bigger artists, but those performing at the Opera House stake a claim to a certain level of cultural cachet with a particular crowd. At last week’s Laneway Festival, my partner observed that Geese were still “far more niche” than she had anticipated, as judged by the size of the crowd at their set. Later, Jack Davis (co-host of the quintessential, long-running SURG program Subgenre Safari) remarked similarly that the buzz and/or mania around Winter and Geese seems to not as yet have translated to international fame, regardless of what anyone will tell you. Though they may not yet be household names, fans have been out en masse over the last month in support of their new golden boy, and at Bennelong Point last week there was a real and genuine sense that those who were fortunate enough to get tickets were truly the lucky ones; privileged to see a future star at a turning point in his career.

You wouldn’t think he knew. Winter met the anticipation of the Concert Hall that night with his all-but trademarked mixture of affable shyness and slight diffidence toward his own cult status. Such is due not necessarily to contempt or disregard for his fans but to a calculated restraint, evident in his stage and performance presence, which limits the extent to which he can possibly indulge his public reception. As has long been his wont, Winter sat facing away from the bulk of the crowd, dressed in almost affectedly modest attire: a grey tracksuit. Even for the uninitiated, the message this sends is clear — professional modesty aside, Winter must possess true confidence in his skills as a performer and a musician. Fortunately for him, this confidence is not at all misplaced.

Winter met the anticipation of the Concert Hall that night with his all-but trademarked mixture of affable shyness and slight diffidence toward his own cult status.

To begin a set with unreleased material is commendable only in the rarest circumstances. The material herein was as complex and poignant as ever, with piano-only instrumentation working entirely in his favour by allowing the audience to acquaint themselves with hitherto unfamiliar music and lyrics. That this material was so successful with the audience even before release affirmed that which we all, I’m sure, had suspected: the best of his material is likely-as-not unheard, and that we in the room could be the prescient few to understand that.

Though undeniably Winter’s biggest hit, ‘Love Takes Miles’ creeped into the set completely unpretentiously at a respectable number five (or thereabouts). In a testament to his songwriting skills, the song is his most accessible, yet still widely beloved by hardcore fans. I’d contend that a huge part of its appeal on the recording is its subtly-eclectic production and instrumental choices. That the song should work so wonderfully live, with only a piano to accompany, was a welcome surprise to myself, but evidently not to Winter or his team — there he was, centre-stage: spotlight completely gone, in almost natural light, as though the song was so obviously beloved that any frills were completely unnecessary. 

Each proceeding number continued this thread of using the lighting as a means of subtle ornamentation. In ‘Drinking Age’, sweeping stage-lights were used in lieu of horns to accent a dramatic moment in an otherwise understated composition; one in which the relatively rudimentary and sparse lyrical imagery are both key in revealing the power and  identity of the piece. The choice, too, to partially raise the house lights during ‘$0’ recontextualised the lyrics of the outro almost entirely, turning a bizarre, ambiguously-ironic piece of songwriting into a genuinely sobering live moment.

Those who were there might reproach me, rightfully, for moving linearly along to ‘$0’ (and thus, regrettably, skipping to the end of the main setlist). Suffice it to say, then, that everything in the middle of the set was equally wonderful and Cameron Winter is both the baritone crooner for our times and an especially expressive pianist to match. I don’t feel altogether too guilty about this choice, though, as it was really the latter set that has stayed with me in the week since. As his encore, only one piece: ‘Take it With You’, one of his first solo releases. The effect of hearing a song which pays sombre homage to the power of place and memory at one of the most iconic venues in the world was not lost on anyone; least of all Winter, whose international indie darling status still seems largely incongruous with his (not-so-public) persona. A friend afterward remarked that it felt almost as though Winter had addressed the song to himself — what has he left behind in taking on this life, and how comfortable is he with this sacrifice?

The effect of hearing a song which pays sombre homage to the power of place and memory at one of the most iconic venues in the world was not lost on anyone, least of all Winter, whose international indie darling status still seems largely incongruous with his (not-so-public) persona.

Stage presence as strong as Winter’s cannot be constructed or cultivated. To use the parlance of our times, one cannot affect such an aura as his. Though facing any way he could except toward the audience, and leaving the stage as unceremoniously as the rest of his set suggested was appropriate, a second standing ovation celebrated what everyone in the room must have (as I had) felt — that we knew him better; that he had revealed a part of himself to us. And yet, never did I get a true sense of his character beyond the modesty and eccentricity; appreciable only in the shades of aching musical sincerity humbly offset by pointed lyrical irreverence. From an almost perfectly complimentary aesthetic sensibility and a simple performance ethos has emerged a true singer-songwriter enigma not-yet seen in our generation. Such was not entirely obvious to me before his Opera House performance, but it is now. No extended bits. Little public persona. One song encore.