“Why D’ya Do It?”—jealous and wrathful—stole the show, suiting her better now than when she recorded it back in 1979. Maybe it was the contrast of seeing Faithfull dressed so quaintly and poised while shouting out, “Whyd ya do it, she said, whyd you let that trash get a hold of your cock, get stoned on my hash ?” That did it. The evening came into miraculous focus during this song. Her fierce snarl danced around the ska-inflected guitar and tore down any notions of artistic comfort to take refuge in. In just a matter of minutes, the whole being of Faithfull was on display—the delicate flaxen-haired flower girl of the ’60s, the homeless tramp of the ’70s, the drug addict, the smoky-voiced cabaret singer, the Weimar-era reenactor, the Shakespeare interpreter—all her incarnations summoned up at once.

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