By NEIL STRAUSS
On the Fourth of July, 15,000 people gathered in Battery Park to watch Emmylou Harris perform with her regular backing trio, Spyboy. For many, the view was obstructed by trees, distance or glaring sun, and the sound mingled with the noise of the city. But for those who found their way to the area in front of the stage, this was a diverse and spellbinding concert.
In a black tank top, a red skirt and black boots, Ms. Harris played music stretching across her multifaceted career, moving through haunting a cappella, driving rock, heart-stilling country, telltale folk and her more atmospheric recent work.
Over the last six years Ms. Harris has attained a point in her career that few artists ever reach. It is that of musicians, like Neil Young, who can follow their own vision with the blessing of their fans. And whether that vision leads them to mediocrity or excellence on a particular song or album, it does nothing to diminish the level of respect they have earned, because it is known that their intentions were pure, their decisions were true to themselves, and their talent did not disappear with youth.
For Ms. Harris, 54, whose rise to eminence has been to have been accompanied by the graying of her hair, the method for achieving this has been a combination of her skills as a talent scout (consistently supporting Rodney Crowell, Buddy Miller and countless others) and by maintaining a balancing act between the mainstream lineage of country and folk, and the alternative branches and possibilities outside the genres. Two entirely contrasting works, the traditional bluegrass album "Roses in the Snow" and the arty ambient record "Wrecking Ball," are among her best albums, and that is a testament not just to her range but also to its quality.
Spyboy, with an ace rhythm section of Blady Blade (drums) and Tony Hall (bass), was impeccable on Wednesday. Ms. Harris's guitarist, Buddy Miller, added perfectly nuanced harmonies (a difficult feat with the queen of country backup vocals), and even turned a Bill Monroe mandolin line into a honky-tonk guitar solo.
For an encore Ms. Harris took a step back to the collaboration that started her career, her early 1970's duets with Gram Parsons. "I want to play the one that got me started on this dark, depressing road," she said with a slight smile. "It's given me so much joy."
And then, accompanied only by Mr. Miller, she began to sing the words, written by Boudleaux Bryant: "Love hurts, love scars, love wounds and mars any heart not tough or strong enough to take a lot of pain." As an awed hush fell over the park, one realized that, for all her range and experimentation, it is still in the bruises of the heart that she is most comfortable and powerful as an artist.