Concert review: Jeffrey Foucault impresses a seated Off Broadway, Thursday, April 26

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Part John Prine, part Dylan, part lonely cowboy swilling whiskey out on a moonlit prairie, Jeffrey Foucault has a chameleonic sound. This quality enhances the troubadour’s grace and emboldens the emotional power of the music.

Many of Foucault’s moving ballads are concerned with introspection and love lost, often couched in the loneliness of travel. “Starlight and Static,” from 2011′s “Horse Latitudes,” washed over the crowd at Off Broadway with tight hammer-ons and dulcet picking. Foucault’s voice stood alone, unlike on the studio version, lending the song new-found power and humanity.

“Pretty Girl in a Small Town” conjured Tom Petty vibes, as well as heartache elusively playing the edge of fiery expression, an effect conjured in all of the evening’s songs, performed stripped-down, solo and subdued. No drums, no bass, no keys — no back up anything — just a guitar and Foucault’s pure, north-country drawl.

“Ghost Repeater,” from the 2006 album of the same title, suggested Steve Earle crossed with Drive-By Truckers. The zydeco accordion featured on the studio version was absent here, which, again, lent the song a certain satisfying emotional resonance.

“Goners Most,” full of crystalline moments concerned with death and dreaming, brought the quiet warmth of Foucault’s voice to the forefront. The man is a poet, for he made “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” new again simply by adding a “for” before each phrase. An interlude lulled the audience with a delicate mood as light as crêpe paper. Before anyone knew it, Foucault’s fingertip released a final hammer-on and the instrumental melted into the nothingness of silence.

As Foucault neared the end of his set, he offered up the most satisfying version of “Passerines” I have ever heard — studio or otherwise. Again, the pedal steel and backup vocals of the album version were appropriately absent. “Nothing I Wouldn’t Do,” from 2010′s “Cold Satellite,” told the story of a man who would do anything for his woman, but Foucault made the well-worn idea new by layering the scene with details of the landscape, which he then masterfully conflated with his love.

“Train to Jackson” depicted the artist weary from travel and seeking advice from an elder: “I took a name, I found a range where my voice can make no sound. I met a man that told me son, ‘I can see you’re on the run, and if you tell me where you’re going, I’ll tell you where you’re bound.’” The notion of being “bound” for a location during a journey is one thing, but Foucault enriches the notion by suggesting how humans can be, in-fact, “bound” by travel.

Fan-favorite, “Everybody’s Famous,” marked the close of Foucault’s show. Electric and eclectic like a Califone tune, the song built dynamically with stuttering, palm-muted guitar and Foucault’s clement lyrics. At this point, a rudimentary understanding of Foucault’s true power set in; I realized I was connected to something larger, something real. There we all were, enraptured by Foucault’s music, growing more captivated each passing moment. In this whizzing, digital age, achieving such real connection is an invaluable gift.

Posted by | April 28, 2012 | Concerts | Comment 

‘It’s kind of divine reverb’ An interview with Ray Wylie Hubbard

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Ray Wylie Hubbard‘s latest record, “The Grifter’s Hymnal,” has been in constant rotation in my truck for the past week. Living with it as I did, many questions arose, and I was lucky enough to be able to run them by the esteemed Mr. Hubbard recently via phone from his front porch in Texas.

Matt Sorrell: In the song “New Year’s Eve at the Gates of Hell,” you say you pawned a 1959 Gibson ES-335. True?

Ray Wylie Hubbard: No, you can’t believe everything on that record! Actually, it was a ’56 Stratocaster, but it just didn’t rhyme. That was really kind of a metaphor for all of the guitars I’ve lost. I tell my wife I don’t want a Porsche or a younger girlfriend. I want all of these guitars I used to have.

Is the whole story relayed in “Mother Blues” autobiographical?

Pretty much all of it is true. My wife Judy was the door girl and checked IDs at Mother Blues when she was 16. I didn’t really know her at the time — I used to come in the back door. It was a great, funky little club in Dallas. Like I say in the song, Lightnin’ Hopkins played there, and Freddie King and Mance Lipscomb. After the club would close there’d be poker games upstairs and the girls from the strip clubs would come over and it was a party till dawn. I did meet an old girl there and we went around together, and she ended up going to Hollywood, and I met Judy again 23 years ago and we had our son Lucas. He plays guitar and he’s got that gold top Les Paul.

Is that the guitar Lucas plays on the record?

Yeah, that’s him on “Coricidin Bottle,” “Red Badge of Courage” and “Mother Blues.”

A lot of the record seems to be about you looking back and going over some of your decisions, good and bad. How do you feel about Lucas starting to play and go out on the road?

Well, I’m very grateful to share the stage with him. He says, “I play the music for free, but you gotta pay me to ride in the van with you and a bunch of old guys.” He’s in school now, doing really well, and I’m proud of him. I’m not pressuring him or anything. It’s still just fun for him. I’m just letting him see what happens. Like I say in the song ["Mother Blues"], I don’t know if he’s gonna hang his life on a guitar or not. I’m very proud of him.

Is he playing with you when you come to St. Louis?

No, he’s got finals. It’s just gonna be me and [drummer/percussionist] Rick Richards. That’s what I’ve been doing lately. It’s just the two of us. Lucas will be traveling with me this summer, and Rick will be going out with Joe Walsh on some summer dates, so I’m gonna lose my sense of time.

The songs on this record lend themselves to all sorts of arrangements. A duo would work really well I imagine.

I’m kind of at that age where I get the gig and then get the band. All of the songs were pretty much written with an acoustic guitar, and then we got in the studio and just kinda saw what happened with them.

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Posted by | April 27, 2012 | Interviews, Music | Comment 

Concert review: Dar Williams (with Caleb Travers) spins a few yarns at the Old Rock House, Tuesday, April 24

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There are a million tired clichés that can be used to describe singer-songwriters. Tuesday evening at the Old Rock House Dar Williams put on a performance that was neither tired nor clichéd.

The evening started with Caleb Travers sneaking on stage and easing into his first tune before I realized he was there. Travers is a St. Louis native guitar picker and singer-songwriter that mines tunes from the same vein of love, loss and traveling as artists like Fred Eaglesmith or John Denver. He was joined on stage by Ross Christopher, whose harmonies soared and violin added a tasteful touch to the songs instead of feeling tacked on.

A few songs into his set, Travers mentioned that it was good to play a short opening set for “people who give a shit.” I can’t speak for the rest of the crowd, but I’m pretty sure that part of it was his own energy coming back at him. It was apparent that Travers and Christopher have worked together for a while, as they were choosing what to play on the fly. Along with tunes from Travers’ most recent album they performed a cover of the Everly Brothers’ “Bye Bye Love” that would surely get the stamp of approval from Phil and Don themselves.

Dar Williams hit the stage just after 9 p.m. and put on a performance that was part folk song, part conversation and all entertaining. Williams spent just as much time talking to the crowd as she did playing her music, relaying stories of her past, encouraging us to plant gardens with our neighbors and reminding us of the small things that define particular moments of our own pasts. Her banter was very engaging and brought more meaning to the songs she performed, much like other singing storytellers John Hammond, Jr. and Mary Gauthier.

A large portion of the songs she played were from her new album “In the Time of Gods,” but despite their newness they were all familiar and comforting, like a favorite pair of slippers. Williams’ voice was robust and fantastic. She used those skills to her advantage, most notably on her tune “Summer Child,” in which she playfully wandered across the breadth of her vocal range without getting lost or misplaced. She ended the set with an encore performance of fan-requested “The Babysitter’s Here,” which brought more than one tear to the eyes of the audience.

I spent my drive home trying to think of someone to compare her to, and the only person I could think of was Dar Williams herself. She’s spent the last 20 years traveling the world telling her stories — and fortunately for us, she has managed not to lose herself or her love of what she does.

Posted by | April 25, 2012 | Concerts | 2 Comments 

Concert review and set list: Sara Watkins (with Sarah Siskind) finds the acoustic sweet spot at the Duck Room, Thursday, April 19

Louis Kwok

To embark on a solo career after being part of a successful group for a number of years is a daunting task. Nevertheless, Sara Watkins seems to be making a smooth transition.

With her former band, Nickel Creek, firmly on hiatus, Watkins has branched out and made several musical connections in supergroups like the Works Progress Administration and performed with the Decemberists on an extensive tour last year. Clearly, she’s having a good time playing and exposing herself to a wide variety of material.

An upbeat Watkins took to the stage at the Blueberry Hill Duck Room sang, played fiddle and guitar, and fully entertained the 125 or so people that came to the basement venue to hear her. Flanked by her older brother Sean on acoustic and electric guitar and Tyler Chester on bass, percussion and guitar, Watkins, wore a simple black dress and brown leather boots. She played a wide spectrum of originals and several cover songs over her 90 minute set. Her voice, light hearted, yet strong, cut through the mix clearly as she tackled the songs easily — a well-honed performer.

While she mixed in a couple of new songs from her forthcoming album due in May, she mostly stuck to material from her first self-titled solo album and other covers. After beginning with an instrumental called, “The Foothills,” the first cover of the set was from the Everly Brothers, “You’re the One I Love,” a song that Watkins recently recorded as a duet with Fiona Apple as a 7″ single for this weekend’s Record Store Day celebration.

Watkins alternated between original songs and covers throughout the rest of the set including three of the five that ended up on her first solo record. She interpreted songwriters that ran the gamut from folk, country, pop and rock. From the gospel of the Louvin Brothers, “River of Jordan,” to the ’60s pop of Michael Nesmith’s “Different Drum,” to the her gorgeous solo rendition of Tom Waits’ “Pony,” Watkins showed that she could be counted on to handle any genre she chooses.

During the John Hartford tune, “Long Hot Summer Day,” Watkins finally let loose a bit from the restrained fiddle she’d played most of the show and dug in and let it fly to have some fun. During the few years since her first album, she has made this song her own. She pandered to the crowd a bit and encouraged them to sing along to the chorus of the song about traveling down the Illinois River. To end the main set Watkins brought out one of the new songs, “Take Up Your Spade,” the last song on the new record. Here she was confident and proud, and it ended up to be one of the strongest performances of the set.

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Posted by | April 20, 2012 | Concerts | Comment 

Concert review: Cowboy Junkies dive into the darkness at the Sheldon Concert Hall, Wednesday, April 18

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Wednesday night started rough for the Cowboy Junkies. Lead singer Margo Timmins was recovering from a week-long illness, pulling away from the microphone to quietly cough while sipping mug after mug of hot tea.

Not that it showed in her vocal performance; Timmons has maintained her languid, lush vocals. On opening song “Sing in My Meadow,” her voice nearly overwhelmed the Sheldon‘s usually spot-on sound system. It took several songs to get the system tweaked to honor her formidable skills.

Timmins announced that the band would be performing two sets. The first set taken from “The Nomad Series,” a four-disc series they wrote and recorded over the last two years.

The next two songs — “See You Around” and “West of Rome” — came from “Demons,” the second “Nomad Series” album. Recorded in tribute to the late Vic Chestnutt, both songs embodied the darkness and angst of the musician’s suspected suicide in 2009. Between the somber songs, the band ignored one fan who hollered, “Let’s go Blues!” to the Canadians. Mid-eulogy might not be the best time for hockey trash talk. Instead the band indulged in soaring pedal guitar and the right mix on Timmins’ vocals.

“3rd Crusade” returned to the heavy drums and guitar of the opening song. Both are from “Sing in My Meadow.” After the song, Timmins talked about the recording process, saying that the men in the band went to their “smelly” garage studio and created “evil-sounding noises” while she sat in the house, wondering how she was going to sing with the music they were making. She managed well, keeping up with the blast of blues rock that sounded more rambunctious than evil.

From “Renmin Park,” an album inspired by songwriter-guitarist Michael Timmins’ three months in China, came “I Cannot Sit Sadly By Your Side,” a cover of a Chinese pop song. Margo explained that the translation proves “they’re just as depressed as we are.” Sure enough, a murder ballad translated from a language halfway around the world proved to me as atmospheric and brutal as the ones born in the Mississippi delta. “Stranger Here” from the same album was solid.

Margo introduced the fourth album, “The Wilderness,” by calling it “quintessential Cowboy Junkies” and “their mom’s favorite,” as it’s rooted in their folk singer-songwriter tradition. “Damaged From the Start” indeed carried the band’s early work forward, managing to be quiet and moody without being sleepy. Drummer Peter Timmins provided a delicate foundation formed with controlled timpani mallets.

Before “Confessions of Georgie E.,” Margo confessed that, until a recent performance, she wasn’t sure what the song was about. She didn’t share her discovery with the audience, instead letting the drone of the pedal steel and her haunted vocals evoke the sparse tale. It’s the expected progression of Cowboy Junkies at their late-1980s best.

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Posted by | April 19, 2012 | Concerts | 1 Comment 

Album review: Brothers Lazaroff continue their journey through Americana with ‘Science Won’

Brothers Lazaroff
“Science Won”
Self-released

Brothers Lazaroff are ever-evolving. From their Austin-inspired alt-country beginnings, they’ve added new layers of other forms of American music with each album. Their new release, “Science Won,” blends styles and genres to create something entirely new about the oldest theme in the world — family.

Album opener “Where Are You Going Now” hints at their rootsy strengths with acoustic strings, modernized with Grover Stewart’s brushed drums and minimalist jazz guitar riffs under brothers David and Jeff Lazaroff’s harmonized chorus. Combined with image-laden lyrics, the whole creates a multi-layered scene of modern domesticity that carries through the album.

Mo Egeston starts the darker “I See Her” with a fleeting moment of improvised jazz piano that morphs into Stewart’s steady percussion and Teddy Brookins’ subtle bass that roots the song. This piano-drum-bass foundation rolls through the entire album, topped with the Lazaroff’s more folk-flavored guitars, especially on “Picking Up Sticks.”

No single sound prevails. Instead, stitches of jazz, folk, country and rock create the fabric. It doesn’t make for a quick, throw-away listen. Much of the album’s appeal comes from discovering the layers. Listen one day, and the jazz influence stands out. The next day, it’s the poetic lyricism and strong visual imagery. Later, the rooted folkiness of the guitar arrangements comes through. It’s subjective to mood, setting and listener experience.

“Sometimes I feel so defined by what my ancestors said,” begins “Under the Tree,” continuing the theme of coming to terms with family, ancestry and generational expectation. “35 Summers” picks up the idea with its images of “some crazy old woman rambling on and on, talking about the kids, the ones that don’t belong.”

“Where Light Betrays Night” pairs sweet vocal harmonies with sparse instrumentation that twists into a funk riff, then straightens itself, twisting and turning to the end when it blends into “Keep it Dark”‘s catchiness that belies the lyrics.

The last quarter of the album is devoted to the more positive aspects of the theme, starting with wedding-ready love song “I Could Stay Here for the Rest of My Life,” to the tongue-in-cheek “It’s All Relative.” The climax of the album’s story, the song sums up what every family does: loves, fails, tries to do right, fights, succeeds, and keeps moving, all with no set pattern and rules.

“The Waltz of No Time” begins the album’s end. Taking a waltz meter with minimalist, modern instrumentation to set a scene of rooted timelessness that dips its toe into jazzy chaos before going silent.

The title track concludes the album with a return to the band’s folk roots. Sparkling acoustic strings shine over a quiet rhythm section, closing the album with, “She never would admit that science won.” What science? Not sure. Science of genetics, or human chemistry, perhaps. Science of evolution that fuels change and the marriage of species, be they mammal or musical.

“Under the Tree” – Brothers Lazaroff

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Posted by | April 19, 2012 | Album Reviews | Comment 

Concert review: William Fitzsimmons (with Denison Witmer) finds the sweet, quiet spot at the Firebird, Saturday, March 31

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Philadelphia’s Denison Witmer opened with a set of introspective tunes concerned with self-study and literary metaphors. After a few minutes of self-deprecation about his height, Witmer slipped into “Light on My Face” from 2012′s “The Ones Who Wait.” The track stood out as a meticulous ode to love and careful passion. Here, Witmer, with his slight nasal rasp, conjured the solo work of Get Up Kids lead singer Matthew Pryor.

The crowd stood stunned (especially those of us who had caught Katchafire a few nights earlier) as Witmer covered Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. The tune was stripped down and complicated by Witmer’s quiet tone and warm voice. Witmer closed with “Take More Than You Need.” The audience remained stone silent, in total reverie as the last notes of the final chord were plucked and rang into nothingness from Witmer’s guitar.

William Fitzsimmons took the Firebird stage with guitarist Jake Phillips and multi-instrumentalist/producer Josh Taylor. The trio opened with “The Tide Pulls From the Moon,” from 2011′s “Gold in the Shadow.” The song was subdued — no drums just serene strings. The trio was very near silent the whole set. It was hard to hear them sitting in the corner of the Firebird, back in one of their leathery booths, so I moved.

On “When You Were Young,” from 2005′s “Until We Are Ghosts,” Fitzsimmons slid his dark-warm voice over Phillips’ guitar. The tune swelled toward a dim chorus. The objects and emotional content Fitzsimmons stuffed into his songs turned sepia-toned in the air around the stage.

Taylor gently pulled digital delay and reverb from a Fender guitar as Fitzsimmons sang about graveyards and new beginnings on “Everything Has Changed.” To engage in a cliché: if you were there, you could have heard a pin drop, a beer bottle clatter, a cell phone ring, a cash register ding. If I would have spoken at a normal volume, my voice would have cut the silence hovering around Fitzsimmons’ hushed verses. The communal effect this created — everyone striving for silence to hear and respect the music — was fantastic. More than once I heard fans shushing other fans chattering too loudly.

A drum loop played over “They’ll Never Take the Good Years,” from 2009′s “The Sparrow and The Crow.” Fitzsimmons sang, “Until when we both are ghosts, I will miss you like a friend.” St. Louis has missed Fitzsimmons like a friend and a ghost. The song was played with dutiful harmonizing by Fitzsimmons’ live band. I could hear the audience singing too, all striving for that perfect sonic moment. Fitzsimmons reminded us, “Don’t be afraid to move on.”

Fitzsimmons told the audience, “Time to slow it down a bit.” Then kidded, “How is that even possible? That was the slowest song ever!” Fitzsimmons’ playful joking worked well to keep the audience engaged and the mood just light enough for his darker ballads.

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Posted by | April 1, 2012 | Concerts | Comment 

Concert review and set list: Laura Gibson, radiant and unfurled, at the Gramophone, Saturday, March 10

Laura Gibson at the Gramophone in St. Louis, March 10, 2012

Meghan McGlynn

I’m sorry to all of you who missed the massive performance of Laura Gibson at the Gramophone last night. And by “all of you,” I mean quite literally all of you (minus the 30-or-so of us that had the phenomenal fortune to hear her play).

And by “massive,” I mean that quite literally as well — do not be fooled by the fact that her too-quiet performance at 2008′s SXSW inspired NPR’s “Tiny Desk Concerts” (apparently after being drowned out by “the din of a yappy crowd,” the two NPR music reporters present requested she give a private do-over at their office in D.C. three weeks later, just so they could hear her).

I may have a personal aversion to all-things, as I call them, “tippy-toed” (for example, the sugary cuteness of monikers like “friendlies,” “autumn song-singers,” “accidental stumble-uponers,” and, the too too cute “snowbunnies,” as she addresses her blog-readers), but do not be fooled by her elven preciousness: Laura Gibson and her accompanying musicians radiate a sound and an energy with an orchestral power that is truly worthy of a concert hall. Yes, massive.

I will not bore you by listing my musical pedigree, as I don’t have one, having abandoned my own musical training years ago (perhaps it was the trauma from the sudden and unexpected death of the nun who endeavored to teach my third-grade self how to play the piano, just minutes before my lesson, or perhaps I was just, well, unequipped); but in my pedestrian characterization, I would describe Laura Gibson’s voice as deep, unique and edgy; metallic, but not tinny; range-capable and fully rounded out with a touch of the bluesy — something I think all good lady singers need.

Even if her voice was more common or less hauntingly lovely (which is not the case), her band mates would surely make up for any dearth of richness. Her pianist / horn player John Whaley has the ability to grow tiny blips into ascending towers of sound (complete with the most beautiful trumpet notes weaving insistently in and out of the songs, rising over and winding through the many layers of instrumentation and vocals).

And her drummer is unique as well, exploiting his bass drum and swelling the crash cymbal to the outer limits of the venue. And rather than continue with the perhaps ill-informed accolades, I will merely assure you the same is true for the rest of the group. I cannot imagine a solo Laura Gibson’s nuanced vocalizing getting lost anywhere, even amid the din of a yappy SXSW crowd, but with these musicians surrounding her, there was no missing the ample talent last night… well, unless you weren’t there! (Then again, with the expansive sounds of Laura and her mates, there might not have been room for you!) But I am sorry if you missed it.

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Posted by | March 11, 2012 | Concerts | Comment 

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