In anticipation of Quebec’s Fête nationale, Claude Dubois offered a moment of grace in the heart of Montreal. An introspective and generous concert, led by one of the finest voices in the French-speaking world.
Claude Dubois walks in slowly, gray hair, back slightly arched, dressed in a loose black sweater, black jacket, jeans and cowboy boots. No longer the bouncy boxer of the Sortie Dubois au Forum era. But from Le Labrador onwards, this voice blessed by the Gods, this timbre, this sonority, that of an old soul, comes into its own. Dubois embodies something greater than himself. The show is generous, fluid and well-balanced. Some songs respond to each other, like Infidèle followed by Femmes de rêve. Dubois remains concentrated behind his microphone, from which he sometimes steps back two or three feet, as if to better project this naked power.
He is accompanied by The Twenty-Nines, the duo Julie Lamontagne (keyboard, piano, with a jazzed-up solo to standing ovations) and Tony Albino (drums), joined by Richard Deschênes (bass) and Hendrixian Kaven Girouard (guitars). The ensemble moves between jazz, rock, pop, French chanson and even reggae.
Among the highlights is Pauvre Rutebeuf, a 13th-century poem set to music by Ferré. The French language is immortal,” says Dubois. Later, Au bout des doigts, preceded by an aside on yesterday’s drugs, less dangerous he says, a nod to the age of fentanyl and urban zombies.
And then the classics. He plays them one by one. Depuis que je suis né. Si Dieu existe, Le blues du businessman… Ovations. Momentum. Communion.
He could have gone on for another half-hour.
In short, we saw again a calm and fragile Claude Dubois, sovereign and happy. Just the way we like him.
Photo : Victor Diaz Lamish
