Concert review: Ray Wylie Hubbard deals a royal blues flush at the Old Rock House, Saturday, April 28

Ray Wylie Hubbard at the Old Rock House in St. Louis, April 28, 2012

Roy Kasten

St. Louis music fans showed true dedication last night as heavy rain, hail, lightning and damaging winds couldn’t keep a solid crowd away from the Old Rock House to see legendary Texas-based singer and songwriter Ray Wylie Hubbard.

On a night when a tent outside a bar in downtown St. Louis left one dead and 17 injured and tennis-ball-sized hail broke windshields across the region, Hubbard rained down a mix of country, folk and blues to warm up a mostly middle-aged audience, still wet and cold from the storm.

Unfortunately the severe weather kept me from arriving on time for the early 7 p.m. start. Why so early you ask? The venue had scheduled another event immediately following this KDHX-welcomed concert; one that incorporated a back drop of black and neon-green decorative snakes wrapped with what looked like metal dryer vents that extended from the stage to a light rig above. It was upon that backdrop that Hubbard — dressed in a long-sleeved black t-shirt over blue jeans with a stocking cap pulled down tight — took the stage in front of a large group loyal fans packing the venue to about three-quarters full.

On tour to support his new album “The Grifter’s Hymnal,” the prolific Oklahoma-born songwriter’s 11th album in the last 20 years, Hubbard performed several new songs including “Henhouse” (a tune he co-wrote with Hayes Carll), “Red Badge of Courage” (a dedication to troops in Afghanistan who listened to his music on recon missions) and “Count My Blessings” (a track inspired by fellow songwriter Slaid Cleaves’ “One Good Year”). With honest lyrics that speak to the hard-working American, Hubbard’s weathered voice gave credence to the stories and lyrical imagery he painted throughout his 40-plus years in music. Upon hearing his songs, one need not question that he’s lived through some hard times yet continued to persevere.

Throughout the 97-minute set, Hubbard switched between acoustic and electric guitar as he played a country and blues mix that had the audience moving and grooving. He would add flourishes of slide guitar and sometimes just keep the beat going with his thumb plucking the open strings. Accompanied onstage by the solid drumming of Rick Richards, Hubbard was in a relaxed, easygoing mood and seemed to have a great time interacting with the crowd. Richards — a spectacular timekeeper with a great bass drum foot and a simple set of snare, floor tom, bass drum and tambourine — provided a solid backbone while Hubbard sang, spun yarns and entertained.

Read more

Posted by | April 29, 2012 | Concerts | Comment 

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

facebook.com/jeffreyfoucault

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 

‘The first batch of honey’ An interview with singer-songwriter Denison Witmer

facebook.com/denisonwitmer / Ethan Luck

Hot off his newest release “The Ones Who Wait,” Denison Witmer brings introspective, acoustic indie-folk to St. Louis’ the Firebird on Saturday, March 31 in support of William Fitzsimmons.

Humble arrangements and subdued melodies abound. Witmer’s quiet, oft-fingerpicked, confessionals delicately shuffle, sway and linger in your heart. The man is no different. With an eye for thoughtful self-study and journaling, Witmer conjures American life with a certain shaded contrast as he draws the listener into his soulful world. I recently interviewed Witmer by phone about his upbringing, songwriting philosophy, new recording studio and love for whiskey.

Will Kyle: Where did you grow up?

Denison Witmer: I grew up about 90 miles west of Philadelphia, in an area called Lancaster, Pennsylvania. It’s famous for being Amish country, but I grew up Mennonite.

Do you still practice?

Yes and no. I always tell people being Mennonite is kind of like being an ethnicity. You’re Mennonite forever. I think Mennonites and Jews share a lot of the same feelings when it comes to cultural ties. My friends who are Jewish here in Philly say, “Yeah, I’m Jewish, but non-practicing.”

Do you find that your Mennonite heritage creeps into your music?

Of course, it’s responsible for shaping my worldview. I really love the Mennonite church for the missions they seek out. They don’t try to Americanize people. Instead, they give power to the powerless. That’s their whole mission, to enable and empower people. That really resonates with me on a political level and on a spiritual level.

Music seems to have that empowerment aspect too, it helps people make sense of their world.

Right. Music has helped me through many phases of my life. It is kind of magical, because you’re creating something out of nothing. You create a melody you hear in your head and it can cast a spell on people. Since I have taken so much from music in my life, I feel it is my responsibility to give back in some way. Fortunately, I’m in a place where I get to do that and that’s something I don’t take for granted.

When you sit down to write a song, do you have a preconceived idea in mind or do you just start tinkering and follow the muse?

I’d say 80 percent of the time, I play the acoustic guitar and something will start to take shape, so I’ll work a melody on top of that. From there, I like to ad-lib lyrics. I always believed in seeing what comes out of me.

Usually, my favorite songs are ones that come about in an extemporaneous way. It’s kind of like things rise to the surface. That’s when I can focus in and try to work the rest of the song out. Music is also a journaling process for me, writing down my own personal epiphanies in some way, expressing my own worldview.

Past that, I don’t pretend to have it figured out or pretend to be the type of person who thinks my epiphanies are more special than everyone else’s. I pride myself on being a book between books on a shelf. We all have a story to tell, but in a sense, it’s nice to be just part of the library, I mean, it’s nice to simply be one among many stories.

Read more

Posted by | March 30, 2012 | Interviews, Music | Comment 

Concert review: Guy Clark masters the Old Rock House, Wednesday, February 29

guyclark.com / Senor McGuire

The appellation “legend” tends to be more of a marketing term than a description of an artist’s importance. Often, it serves only to mark someone who’s been lucky enough to get old without succumbing to too many vices and pitfalls along the way, and doesn’t necessarily reflect the scope of their contribution to their art form.

No one, however, deserves the title of “legend” more than Guy Clark, a progenitor of multiple splinter factions of Americana music and a songwriter without peer, and last night at the Old Rock House, he proved this in spades to the sold-out crowd.

Accompanied by longtime collaborator Verlon Thompson, Clark hobbled onto the stage while John Lennon’s “Imagine” played over the PA. He leaned heavily on a cane — the result of being recently, as he put it, “laid up with bad legs” — sank slowly into his seat and gingerly took his guitar from its stand.

“We’ve come here to sing you some songs,” Clark said. “Some of which we know.”

The duo had no set list. Instead, the selection of songs were decided upon on the spot with a little bit of discussion and the help of a few audience requests.

The evening started with “Cape,” possibly the finest ode to the importance of keeping your inner-child alive into adulthood ever penned, then moved on to fan favorites “L.A. Freeway” and “Homegrown Tomatoes.” But the set wasn’t just a rote run through of greatest hits. Clark announced early on that he’d be trying out some new material, and these new gems, like “My Favorite Picture of You” — another musical tribute to one of Clark’s frequent inspirations, his wife Susanna — and “I’ll Show Me” were proof positive that while Clark may physically be a bit worse for wear, his skill at laying the heart of the matter bare and distilling the truth from it hasn’t been blunted a bit.

What transpired at Hickory and 7th last night wasn’t so much a “show” as a version of one of Clark’s famous kitchen-table guitar pulls. There were flubbed lyrics, missed cues and more than a few sour notes.

“Y’all should get your money back,” Clark said, chuckling, after one misstep.

Read more

Posted by | March 1, 2012 | Concerts | Comment 

Guy Clark’s greatest 15 songs — a very challenging list by Ed Becker

facebook.com/guyclarkmusic / Jim McGuire

Picking favorite tunes by Guy Clark is more an exercise in what to leave out, rather than what to include. The songwriting legend is entering his seventh decade, still at the top of his game.

He’s got new knees, plays homemade guitars and has that road-weary voice that blends perfectly with his wonderful observations on life. Guy, accompanied by sideman extraordinaire, Verlon Thompson will grace us with his presence three times in the near future: February 29 at the Old Rock House in St. Louis, March 4 at Richardet Floor Covering in Perryville, Mo. and September 12 at Wildwood Springs Lodge in Steelville, Mo.

Five — it could have been 10 — of my favorite songs come from Guy’s masterpiece “Old No. 1″ — in my opinion the best debut album ever. Guy was already 34 when he released this gem, and a lot of his friends were already doing his songs. The album would have been amazing with just Guy and his guitar, but add Emmylou and Sammi Smith’s vocals, future stars Rodney Crowell and Steve Earle, guitar wizards Chip and Reggie Young, piano player David Briggs, Mickey Raphael on harmonica and master fiddle player Johnny Gimble, and you have an instant classic.

1. “Desperados Waiting for a Train” Of all the songs Guy has had covered he says his favorite is character actor Slim Pickins’ version of this song.

2. “Texas 1947″ Vivid recollections of Guy’s childhood.

3. “Like a Coat From the Cold” There might be better love songs, but I’ve never heard them, especially when sung with Emmylou.

4. “She Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” How can you not include this one when Guy often mentions that it’s his favorite song, about “10 seconds in a woman’s life.”

5. “Let It Roll” As a music fan you know how you have those magical moments. One of mine would be with Guy from years ago at the Sheldon Concert Hall. He stepped forward and off-mic recited this classic. I’ve never heard anything more emotional or a room that quiet.

Usually when a debut album is so fine the followup is disappointing. Not so with Guy Clark. “Texas Cooking” again included a stellar cast and was almost as good. I could have included more songs from it on my list, but I just picked one.

6. “The Last Gunfighter Ballad” Guy was really proud and honored when this modern-day western ballad became the title song to a Johnny Cash album.

7. “Randall Knife” Guy’s emotional tribute to his father first appeared on 1983′s “Better Days.” A lot of people sing better than he does, but nobody recites a song like Guy.

Read more

Posted by | February 24, 2012 | Music | Comment 

Album review: Ingrid Michaelson sweeps through heartbreak on ‘Human Again’

Ingrid Michaelson
“Human Again”
Mom+Pop

With her lilting voice and nerdy, girl-next-door looks, Ingrid Michaelson has charmed an audience and built a career around her good-girl appeal.

But that’s not to say there’s no substance behind her style. Michaelson’s career is both an indie success story and a commentary on the current nature of the music business. In an environment where it is easier than ever to make music, where everyone has a website and a YouTube channel, it can be, rather ironically, harder and harder for musicians to get their songs heard. Commercial radio is simply not as much of a factor in introducing new artists, and musicians must pursue other avenues to reach an audience.
 
Michaelson first got attention for song placement in television shows such as “Grey’s Anatomy,” and later by licensing her songs for TV commercials. Once upon a time, an artist that sold a song for commercial use was considered a sellout. (Remember when Neil Young declared that he wasn’t singing for Pepsi or Coke?) Today it’s the opposite. An artist can have a song on TV before a single on the radio. For Michaelson, “selling out” was the stepping stone to the audience she has now. When Old Navy picked up “The Way I Am” (from her 2006 record “Girls and Boys”) it helped pave the way for her career.
 
With her clever, literate lyrics and sometimes quirky, well-crafted pop songs, perhaps Michaelson’s success was inevitable. I never watched “Grey’s Anatomy” or saw those commercials. I came to appreciate her the old-fashioned way: by falling in love with her voice (and, to be honest, her looks). It may have been her persona that first got my attention, but I stayed for her songs.
 
On her new record, “Human Again,” Michaelson delivers more of the deeply textured arrangements and soaring vocals that are her trademark. And while she has always sung about both love and loss, this time around the emphasis centers more squarely upon the loss. “Human Again” is clearly Michaelson’s take on the classic break-up album.

As if there were any question, the record opens with “Fire” as she sings, “Open heart surgery/That is what you do to me.” She then moves right into “This Is War,” another heartbreaker featuring the lines “It’s a wonder at all that I survived the war/Between your heart and mine.” Thankfully, the third track delivers a bit of a respite with the upbeat tune, “Do It Now,” a catchy number and an admonition to seize the day.
 
Read more

Posted by | February 3, 2012 | Album Reviews | Comment 

Concert review: Rachael Yamagata and Mike Viola turn down the lights and warm up the winter night at the Duck Room, Wednesday, December 7

flickr.com/photos/guuskrol/3360143715 / Guus Krol

Mike Viola, a songwriter known for the Oscar-nominated song “That Thing You Do!” and his work with the Candy Butchers, opened the night with a set of acoustic tunes that got the crowd shimmying around the light-wrapped support poles of the Duck Room.

Viola stood proud and loud, calling his show “an act, what I do up here is an act.” He returned and played an array of instruments, from keys to guitars, with headliner Rachael Yamagata.

The room stood full, nearly to capacity. People arranged themselves around the bar and the few tables, and even opted to sit on the floor directly before the stage. Yamagata appeared in all black, her long hair in wisps about her. She asked the audience and the tech guys to make the room darker. Fans obliged by climbing up on chairs and tugging the Christmas light plugs from their sockets. The room dimmed to cheers and the singer leapt into “Even if I Don’t,” the first track from her 2011 release, “Chesapeake.” The song soared with the help of a supporting four-piece band. The drums fell like stutter steps over sewer grates. Yamagata’s vocals shimmered as she quietly asked for more piano, then promptly less after the soundman gave her too much.

“We’ve been on a month and a half of touring without a day off, so we’re a little crazy,” she announced to an audience that laughed and joked with the musician. She delivered “Letter Read,” a song about snooping when someone’s intuition is right enough to prove snooping appropriate. The song was dreamy, sexy, dark and bluesy, spanning the gap between KT Tunstall and Nora Jones.

Yamagata jumped up and grabbed an acoustic and told a story about writing “Starlight” at 4 a.m. in Woodstock with her cats chilling on her lap. “I couldn’t see the pale moon tonight, not one wave was coming through,” she sang in a breathy alto. “And I’m terrified to look outside because I need you.” “The Way It Seems to Go” featured slide guitar, rambling bass and swanky piano flourishes from Viola.

Yamagata went solo on the piano for “Elephants,” a performance art ballad. The set shaded into somber territory and the crowd responded with enraptured silence. The band then returned for “Sunday Afternoon.” The song strutted out after some banter from Yamagata, who talked about how bad it is to “suffer over your suffering.” “I Don’t Want To Be Your Mother” offered up ornate backing vocals and the singer’s resolve: “I’m not going anywhere, I only want to bring you back to me.” The mood was full of winter gloss and loneliness, like the snowy end of Joyce’s story “The Dead.”

Read more

Posted by | December 8, 2011 | Concerts | Comment 

Album review: Ryan Adams returns to melancholy form on ‘Ashes & Fire’

Ryan Adams
“Ashes & Fire”
PAX-AM / Capitol
 
The first track on the new Ryan Adams record opens quietly as Adams sings, “Last time I was here it was raining/It ain’t raining anymore.”

And so, with a sparse acoustic guitar part and that simple lyric Ryan Adams marks his return to music after a hiatus of nearly three years. “Ashes & Fire” is his first record since 2007′s “Easy Tiger” and since he disbanded the Cardinals in 2009. (Last year’s “III/IV” was actually recorded during the “Easy Tiger” sessions, and “Orion,” a heavy metal record, was released on vinyl by his label, PAX-AM, and available only through the label’s website.)
 
Ryan Adams is one of the most prolific songwriters working today, but he took a break from music in order to deal with personal issues. Those issues included some trouble with drugs and alcohol, and a bout with Meniere’s disease, an inner ear disorder that affects balance and can result in hearing loss. Adams did, in fact, lose some hearing in one ear, and recently told Rolling Stone that he had permanently lost some of the middle tones in one ear.

Now, married and with his personal life presumably in order, Ryan Adams has returned to music. Perhaps a little of that Disney magic has rubbed off on him (his wife, Mandy Moore, was the star of “Tangled”), because “Ashes & Fire” is one of his best records to date.



Adams has been a critic’s darling and a critic’s nemesis. He can be a brilliant songwriter and performer. But he can also be temperamental, and has produced some uneven records. “Ashes & Fire” is simply a solid singer-songwriter record. The emphasis here is on the songs and the vocals, less on the musicianship that marked his time with the Cardinals. That’s certainly not to say the music fades into the background. Bringing in musicians like Norah Jones on piano, and Benmont Tench (Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers) on keyboards and the occasional Hammond B3, the band serves to underscore the lyrical content and the vocal performances, rather than taking the forefront. 
 
Not surprisingly, Adams frequently mines the territory of heartbreak and loss, as on songs like “Lucky Now” when he sings: “The lights will draw you in/But the dark will bring you down/And the night will break your heart/But only/If you’re lucky, now.” Of course, this is familiar territory for Adams. But even at his most earnest, as on “Kindness” when he asks a lover, “Do you believe in love?” the lyrics are never clichéd or overly sweet.
 
The songs here are acoustic and often subdued. There are no rockers, with the title track being among the most upbeat of the songs on the record. And that’s okay. “Ashes & Fire,” like most Ryan Adams records, has a feel that is all its own. While a feeling of melancholy persists throughout, the record is never maudlin, even when wearing its heart on its sleeve.

And it even ends on a hopeful note, closing, almost as quietly as it began, with the wistful “I Love You But I Don’t Know What to Say.”

Ashes and Fire by ryanadams

Posted by | November 21, 2011 | Album Reviews | Comment 

Next Page →