Hozier in concert is like poetry in motion.

Lyrics, poetry in and of themselves: all the poetic devices – simile, metaphors, alliteration; a worldliness of biblical, mythological, environmental, socially aware imagery. The musicality of the songs themselves, poetry in rhythm and tempo. These are true regardless the platform (live, radio, vinyl, etc.).

But seeing Hozier live on August 24 at Rogers Place for his Unreal Unearth Tour (and previously at the Edmonton Folk Festival in 2019), this voice of voices rolls out in goose-bump-forming tones. (Or, as someone behind me bewilderingly exclaimed: “how can he sound like that!? What magic is this?!”) Poetry in motion.

He apologizes early on for his voice – explaining he’s been sick with some virus and still recovering. “Please,” he pleads a few times, “if you know the lyrics, please sing along to help me get by.” But that voice sounds strong and pure and lovely to us (see above re “magic”).

We sing along anyways, as you do at a concert, but also in support of his request and the emotion behind it. This audience, we have him, we sing the words, we sing the oooohs (this is incredibly moving during Would That I, where the tradition has developed for the entire audience to sing the ooohs with all the passion and commitment, essentially becoming the backup singers for this part).

We cheer in encouragement at the confession of illness. We radiate out to him all the positive and healing energy that we have. The floor is vibrating with it. We are appreciative and devoted.

And he does not falter. He and his band give back the energy and devotion to the Nth degree.

The strength, talent, and discipline to do so becomes apparent less than 48 hours later when Hozier postpones the next two shows to recover. We were truly blessed in Edmonton to have him.

Though perhaps illness has him standing mainly at his mic at centre stage, he is poetry in motion. Hozier is a brilliant lyricist, his words tell the stories in those poetic devices and worldly imagery, but his face and body language tell the stories in the motion of emotion.

Live music, good live music, is like that though.  A good song can make you feel its emotions just by listening; but listening, feeling, seeing it performed live can transport you into the song in the deepest of ways.

Seeing Hozier in concert is poetry in visual stimulation. Trees unearthed from above the rafters descend upside down to the stage. 

The screen continues the branch of the trees, or portrays numerous TVs (a la Zoo TV for those of us U2-inclined – this seems to be this year’s concert theme), and other imagery.

The lighting creates a world of blues and greens, and reds, of stars shining across the stage and out into the audience, who join in the creation of constellations in Rogers Place by lighting up their phone flashlights for the slower songs.

We too are poetry in motion, this audience. I can’t really tell if everyone in the stands are also on their feet, but it feels like it. This crowd is passionate and in to it.

Those of us on the floor have been here for hours (apparently the line for GA started at 7AM for those wishing to be as close as possible to the stage), and though thoroughly distracted by all this poetry of the senses, we are swaying back and forth from sore foot to sore foot, dehydrated and crowded together, thankful for the occasional breeze that sweeps between and around us, and for the security who hand out cups of water after the opening act (the amazing Allison Russell, who also joined Hozier on stage for their duet Wildflower and Barley and the final song of the night, Work Song).

Sweat is dripping down my back and I don’t know what to do with my right arm that keeps trying to occupy the same space as the shoulder and arm of the guy slightly ahead and to the side of me. I’m pretty sure there is a law of physics that says two beings cannot occupy the same space at the same time but he is a wall and there is nowhere for my arm to go.

(I am poetry in motion as I sway left to right, trying not only to find a spot for my arm, but more importantly to see Hozier around the blockade of very tall people in front and around me. Luckily Hozier’s notorious height plays in my (and presumably all our) favour, as I can at least see his shoulders and head. It is worth it though – to be this close and in this energy.)

There is no stopping this motion as Hozier breaks into Take Me to Church. And while he and the band definitely took us there, the audience is on fire, loud and hungry for this song, and we take him to all the churches to town all at once and do not let up as Hozier places a Pride flag on his mic stand before they all leave the stage and we cry and applaud for the encore.

The crowd shifts in this break and the wall of tall people are no longer blocking my way. My right arm is free and finally I can see more fully. 

Hozier is poetry in connection. In eye contact.

Hozier in encore is poetry in disquisition.  He is poetry on a social justice platform.

I have said many times before, I love me a rock god who uses their platform for good. 

It is, in fact, for me, a quality (along with musicality, a voice like no other, and intelligent lyrics – so, Hozier: check, check, check, and check) that catapults a musician to rock god status.

Hozier stands on stage in the middle of the encore and delivers one of the most moving, impassioned, Bono-level social justice speeches about reproductive rights for women, the need for international efforts in Palestine (and how the international efforts helped broker peace in Northern Ireland), LGTBQIA+ rights and so much more.

We are riveted. Moved.

When he moves, we move.

This, before his song Nina Cried Power – a song about the positive and overwhelming impact of singers in social justice movements. 

The message I am receiving is even if we think we have no voice, no power to do something, to make a positive change in this world, we do. We can. We might think it’s to little, what we can do – singers might just sing, but Nina (Simone) cried Power! Billie (Holiday) cried Power!  We can all cry power in our ways.  It’s not the thing, it’s the action.

A Social Justice Movement begins with one movement.

We can be poetry in Movement.