you must be an artist

There's been so much sad news lately, and I have no answer for it. But I knew I had made the right decision to attend Kevin Barnes' solo acoustic show when the first two songs I heard over the PA were by David Bowie and Roxy Music.

Kevin Barnes, Swedish American Hall, May 25, 2018

I have no concept of trends, upticks, downgrades, or anything these days, so I go by instinct on when to jump on tickets and when to let demand play out. My sense was Kevin Barnes doesn't tour by himself a whole lot -- at least not in the Bay Area -- so I might as well catch this show. And as recent experience has reminded me, don't pass up the opportunity to see special artists when you can.

It's been a while since I've seen Of Montreal, but I have fond memories of those shows, filled with spectacle and theatrics. However, the appearance I won't forget for a long time is a visit to the Little Room at Largo and a tearful rendition of "Mother." (Um, I saw Kevin at Largo at the Coronet twice?!) And really, a solo acoustic performance is like catnip to me.

Kevin informed the crowd that he has a new album and played several songs from the record. The audience happily went along for the ride, though once again, I'll profess ignorance of most of Kevin's work. But they sang with him, roared out the choruses, and of course proclaimed their love for him. I wouldn't have expected anything less.

I will always associate Of Montreal with ornate, florid production, so it was fantastic to hear the songs in their stripped-down form. Even in their most fundamental form, Kevin's songs probably wouldn't be classified as folk music; his melodies are still a little too baroque for the genre. This is not a bad thing; in fact, Kevin's trademark musicality remains untouched. In a couple of spots, he provided his own echoing backing vocals and a cappella synth sounds for the full DIY effect.

The other major contrast to his performances with Of Montreal was his appearance. He wore no makeup, showed little product in his hair, and donned jeans and a t-shirt -- albeit a bright print that he claimed was his mother's, along with a sparkly necklace. He fit right in among the clean lines and natural materials at the Swedish Music Hall.

Kevin bantered amiably, but I can't remember any of the exchanges, other than the intro to his closing song. He halfway apologized for one phrase and asked if it was acceptable. The song was, of course, "Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider" (a former favorite at Largo), and the phrase was "faggy girl." I'm sure someone out there will find offense, but I'm not one of them. Anyway, it was fun as hell to hear, especially with the audience chipping in all over.

I don't need to say it, but Kevin Barnes is absolutely legit, eyeliner or no.

See also:
» the only dancer i believe in
» everybody's gotta learn sometimes
» really quite out of sight

everybody's gotta learn sometimes

It's official, kids: Three months, three shows, and three sellouts--Jon Brion's shows (mach, er, four?) at Largo at the Coronet are no longer casual affairs. Procrastinate at your own risk.

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, March 26, 2010: Technically, with the late announcement of Jon's Saturday date, the count is up to four shows, but I couldn't make it to the Saturday gig, despite the promise of a superspecial guest. Since we're crunching numbers and talking tallies, I'll also mention that this is the second time this year I've missed an exclusive Largo appearance by an unnamed musician. You can kinda blame a certain band for dominating my calendar, but truth be told, I was on my way to western Maryland for a hard-won brunch reservation. I don't regret it at all!

For the first eight songs of his set, Jon drifted between moody, introspective pieces and his more energetic numbers, and you could chalk up the course of the evening to the typically varied and unrehearsed nature of his shows. Thus, Jon balanced the one-two punch of "Someone Else's Problem Now" and the ever stunning Magnolia theme with a build of "Girl I Knew," featuring a bluesy guitar breakdown in the middle.

Trailing the power pop of "It Looks Like You," a chamberlin- and MicroKORG-infused "Moon River" trickled out on a jazzy stream. He pulled no stops with "Walking Through Walls," though equipment problems threatened to derail him. I couldn't tell you what was happening with the gear, except that you could see Jon cursing at pedals and guitars at various points of the song. In the meantime, he managed to tease out a hint of Les Paul, and he drew us in to the chorus as he segued into "Rock and Roll." The Magnolia theme had inspired applause from the audience, but the Gary Glitter nod was one of the first signs of levity for the night.

If you had to pick a highlight for the first set, you could do worse than the next selection: a build of "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes," an already breathtaking song that Jon augmented with one of the finest uses of the video mixers I've seen from him. First, there was an unnamed orchestra; next, Jon called up the well-worn Nels Cline footage.

The former, as you might expect, supplied the strings. Nels, through the magic of modern technology, came through with an eerily appropriate guitar solo that sounded as if he had penned the tune itself. In hindsight, this title embodied the evening's emotional tone, as Jon somewhat confirmed with the soliloquy that ensued.

Jon spoke for the first time that night, thanking us profusely for--slightly paraphrased--letting him disappear his own ass. Then he cut to the chase, remarking on the recent abundance of death, specifically citing Mark Linkous and Alex Chilton. In addition to lauding their talent, he told us to not request their songs and to listen to their records instead--a familiar refrain to anyone who's been to Largo after the passing of any of the greats.

But he also referred to an unnamed friend and shared a story about the jacket he was wearing that night. Mind you, I've seen this jacket before--it's not an item you'll forget. Though it possesses a certain Touluose Lautrec quality, it's an, um, acquired taste. With his anecdote, Jon not only explained the jacket's origins, but paid tribute to the friend. I take back everything I've ever said about the jacket--he should wear it every chance he gets.

To break up the mood, Jon asked for requests and chose a song that he said he'd heard the other day on the iPod, reminding him of how much he loved the album. It was the Cars' "Just What I Needed," performed on the vibes, and we came through with the chorus and with giggles. About two-thirds into the song, a section of the vibes fell off, in keeping with the rash of technical issues that had popped up all night. Jon finished the tune, but at its conclusion, he turned over the setup, a la Keith Moon.

At the side of the stage, we could see some of the Largo regulars gawking and pointing at the seeming scrap heap, but Jon wasted no time in channeling that energy into "Tomorrow Never Knows." Atop the foundation of looped beats and piano notes, Jon added jangly riffs and an analog synth frenzy, then recruited several video contributors: Eric Clapton, early breakdancers, Buddy Guy, a Cajun fiddler, and Nels Cline (again). I know this song invites chaos, and it'd be hard to urge order on it, but this video mix proved less effective than the first outing. Nonetheless, I appreciated the return to the piano and Krautrock outro.

For the encore, Jon rolled out an especially echoing and chiming "Waterloo Sunset"--proving again to be a great emotional salve--and the charming Dylan-inspired take on "Knock Yourself Out." Then it was off to the Little Room for Set No. 2.

It was a slightly unusual scene in the Little Room: Occupying the bench at the front of the chamber were a few of talents who usually hover closer to the back of the space, waiting to be called to the stage for their contribution. Tonight, they seemed not unlike some of the patrons, enjoying drinks and each other's company. Their informal stance became clearer when Jon arrived, Kevin Barnes in tow for the second month running. Positioned at the piano, Jon stationed Kevin at the mic.

Kevin still doesn't carry the casual air of a Largo fixture, but his faith in Jon came through clearly as he belted out a couple of covers that couldn't have been more different from each other. The first, "I Want You Back," opened up the room and picked up our already high spirits. The second, "Mother," was raw and tormented. The tears visibly flowing down his face only confirmed everything you heard in his voice and the song.

Kevin left a huge hole with his departure, but Dave Rawlings and Gillian Welch--whom I last saw in Seattle--took up the challenge. They knocked out one of their own, then a favorite cover (that brought out huge smiles from Gillian), and from there, the stage became a revolving door of sorts. Sara and Sean Watkins, naturally, appeared for a couple of tunes, and Benmont Tench stepped in too.

I didn't catch the name of the Johnny Horton song, but we all caught sight of Gillian dancing along to it, her cowboy boots also conveniently supplying the beat. Though Dave struggled with the second verse, you gotta give him some credit--the tune had a lot of words.

This old-time marching anthem inspired Jon to proceed down a path that perhaps only he could carry off: a bluegrass version of the Smiths' "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now." The mind reels at the thought of what Johnny Marr might've wrought had he listened to more Ralph Stanley records, but I'm not going to argue with the thesis set forth tonight. Also, I'd like to mention that my second request of the evening ("Suedehead") was shot down during the lull that followed; I will, however, revisit the possibilities of "9 to 5" in the future.

"Flat Foot Floogie" ostensibly started as a duet between Jon and Benmont, but Dave--standing just offstage with his guitar still slung across his shoulders--contributed so much to it, from the opening urging of a "barrelhouse" tune to random notes through the course of the song, that Jon and Benmont convinced him to come back to the spotlight.

Still, it wasn't over. The musicians left the stage, and the lights flickered on and off, yet one more song awaited. Jon concluded the show with a jazzy instrumental number, the kind I'm completely useless at identifying. I'm going to throw out the highly debatable opinion that it might've been "Ain't Misbehavin'." If you have information to the contrary, feel free to let me know.

Set 1
--piano
--Someone Else's Problem Now
--Magnolia theme
--Girl I Knew
--It Looks Like You
--Moon River
--Walking Through Walls
--Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes
--Just What I Needed
--Tomorrow Never Knows

encore
--Waterloo Sunset
--Knock Yourself Out

Set 2
--I Want You Back *
--Mother *
--Everything Is Free @
--Tired Eyes @
--Early in the Morning #
--Reality Calls #
--? $
--? [Johnny Horton song] %
--Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now %
--Pretty Peggy-O %
--Flat Foot Floogie ^

encore
--piano

* = Jon Brion and Kevin Barnes
@ = Jon Brion, Dave Rawlings, and Gillian Welch
# = Jon Brion, Dave Rawlings, Gillian Welch, and Sara and Sean Watkins
$ = Jon Brion, Dave Rawlings, Sara Watkins, and Gillian Welch
% = Jon Brion, Dave Rawlings, Benmont Tench, Sara Watkins, and Gillian Welch
^ = Jon Brion, Dave Rawlings, and Benmont Tench

See also:
» three-god night
» really quite out of sight
» this old rain's just about soaked through

really quite out of sight

For the second month in a row, a sold-out crowd took in Jon Brion's show at Largo at the Coronet, and patrons were turned away at the door--in a monsoon downpour, no less. Sound familiar? I don't think it's too soon to call it: Buy your tix ahead of time, show up early for your seat assignments, and dress for the weather. History may be repeating itself.

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, February 19, 2010: A funny thing happened on the way to the Coronet: Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. You name it--flight delays, circuitous (and expensive) cab rides, bad weather, foolish assumptions--I hit them all. Fortunately, wiser parties planned ahead and secured our favorite spot, averting another semi-fiasco.

"Fiasco," by the way, applies to only my personal predicament and not to the music itself, which kicked off with a piano improv that I'm less equipped than usual to describe. Jon followed it with a string of originals reaching as far back as "Amateur"--the set-killing downer suggested by, not coincidentally, yours truly--and "Walking Through Walls," as sprawling as ever.

A series of new songs comprised the heart of this segment. The future classic "Piece of You" set heads nodding and feet tapping as always, but "She's At It Again" (if that's what it's called) really got under my skin this time, though I've heard it before. Currently, it's direct and spare, with a lovely arcing melody, but there's no telling how it'll sound when/if it reaches its officially released form. Personally, I'd like to hear it as a Joy Division-style monotone dirge, if only for a laugh. I'm not holding my breath for the transformation, but hey, hope springs eternal at Largo.

The final composition in this chain sounded entirely new to me. I can tell you it was steeped in a '70s singer/songwriter vibe and performed exclusively on the piano. Stay tuned for further developments.

I admit that I'm sometimes too close to certain experiences to offer an impartial opinion, and I'm sheltered from some realities. However, I honestly try to keep a balanced view. I mention this in light of recent comments from several friends about Largo at the Coronet.

This isn't the same spot where many of us first saw Jon and the like; you'd be a fool to argue that the crowds have remained static or that the vibe hasn't been transformed in some way. At the old place, it was easy to feel like you were a member of an exclusive group of determined souls willing to spend the better part of their Friday night lining up on Fairfax Avenue, followed by several more hours of jostling for position at the back of the club until your feet hurt so bad that you wanted to saw them off with a rusty butter knife. Pretty special, huh?

I was fortunate--and I overcompensated--enough to not have to worry about parking myself on the pavement most weeks, and as time passed, I became friends with many other regulars, who often welcomed me from nearby tables on each visit. But it never escaped me that the audience included at least a smattering of newbies every week. Heck, I often shared a table with those rookies--some of them long-suffering pals satiating their curiosity and/or humoring me, some of them strangers plucked off the street when my buddies couldn't fill out the reservation. At one point, we were all first-timers.

The move to the Coronet has definitely increased this mix--in more ways than one. At Jon's show, you'll recognize the junior league by the giggles that accompany his first loop of the evening, seemingly silly requests that never get fulfilled, or ecstatic receptions for semi-staples of his set. The thing is, it's been like this for a while, though maybe not to the same degree. Step back, and you may even admit that you'd have--or, more accurately, had--a similar reaction once upon a time.

Take, for example, when Jon extended another call for requests and landed on "Tomorrow Never Knows." Though he grumbled a bit about the "lots of looping" required, he struck up the band anyway. As far as I'm concerned, that's always the right decision. Along with being one of the premier showcases of Jon's talents, it makes for the kind of performance that everyone should experience at least once.

In addition to looping the drums, piano, synths, and guitar, Jon snuck in a sequence on the Chamberlin and worked up the video clips. Eric Clapton and Nels Cline made their customary appearances, and Maria Callas showed up too. Maria's portion, I'd argue, was the least effective element; I was distracted by her early contributions, though the pairing with Eric Clapton synced up nicely.

Overall, the song was less faithful to the original than previous versions I've heard. You can usually pick up echoes of the original's psychedelia in Jon's interpretation, but the guitar this time sounded meatier and more rocking. Mind you, he didn't forget such crucial touches as those seagull sounds (you know what I'm talking about), and the heady instrumental swirl could leave you to believe that the acid flashback long threatened by your high school health ed teacher was finally touching down.

Typically, "Tomorrow Never Knows" signals the close of Jon's set, and he indicated as such. However, his prediction turned out to be premature. It began with a request for "Here Comes Your Man," but because Jon claimed to not know all the words, he subbed in "Gigantic," though without the usual "Jesse's Girl" segue. He toyed with most of the suggestions, playing bits of Booker T, Mott the Hoople, the Talking Heads, Michael Jackson, and Lady Gaga, among others.

Based on audience reaction, Jon chose "Don't Stop Believing" among the dozens of titles lobbed his way. I have no problem confessing that I know this song extremely well; I can still picture my uncle's copy of Escape on cassette, long before Glee fever hit. If pushed, I can probably help out with "Open Arms" and "Separate Ways" too.

But it wasn't any old rendition. Jon took up the vibes, including a handful of massive solos (it was the '80s, after all), and made us supply the vocals. For the most part, we did well, though we skipped at least one verse ("working hard to get my fill/everybody wants a thrill"--see above for comments on my familiarity with this song). I belted it out with the best/worst of them, and by the end, it totally felt like the room had come together.

Other requests brought a more mixed reaction from Jon. Witness his comments upon hearing a request for Pink Floyd:

Jon: Do you think I just started this gig? [pause] Fuckers.

I don't know "Dark Side of the Moon" at all, so I can't weigh in on Jon's treatment for the song. But based on the fact that Jon brought in video of an old fiddler singing in French, paired it with footage of Jacques Brel, and offered a defiant laugh at the conclusion of the song, I wouldn't be surprised if it veered wildly from the standard. Maybe in a conciliatory gesture, Jon turned out an exquisite version of "Wish You Were Here" on the vibes, casting a new light on the song's isolation and otherworldliness.

For the encore, Jon once more picked our brains, then picked a song. He unfurled "Positively 4th Street," informing us, in keeping with the theme of the evening, it was one of "loop's greatest hits." I'm just glad that lots of jangly guitar factored into the formula as well. With that, the first portion of the night concluded and we rushed over to the Little Room for the second swing.

Unlike in previous months, Jon took more than a spectator role for this follow-up set. He made his way to the stage with a guitar and a guest in hand: Kevin Barnes from Of Montreal. It's no secret that the two have been working together, and bless them for gracing my city with their sole joint tour stop last summer. Still, I gasped when I recognized Kevin's profile at the back of the room.

They started off with an Of Montreal track, "Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider," which Jon has been known to cover, and next brought up Benmont Tench, who casually introduced himself to Kevin right in front of our eyes. Jon nonchalantly remarked that he and Benmont would play chords and Kevin would fill in the words. The blueprint established, they arrived at the Zombies, followed by Bowie, leading Jon to suggest they form an acoustic Bowie cover band.

While they tried to figure out their next move, Benmont excused himself, leaving the stage to Jon and Kevin. Jon took his place at the piano and maneuvered them to Hunky Dory territory, which Kevin promised he could fake well enough. They eventually circled to "Life on Mars," with Jon filling in when Kevin forgot the words.

If you've seen Of Montreal before, you know Kevin is the central figure in the production, commanding attention amid an undeniably colorful and magnetic cast. Tonight, he presented a more mannered figure, though in his nearly all-white ensemble, he wouldn't be mistaken for a typical Largo patron or performer. There were no props, no pyrotechnics, no glitter, and he modestly stood aside while Jon figured out their repertoire or supplied the lyrics.

I imagine that a performer's first visit to Largo, even under Jon's auspices, can be daunting, but while he dialed down his appearance, Kevin let the music shine in a way that can be lost in his band's all-out sensory blitz. "This Will Be Our Year" came through jauntily and with charm, but with "Life on Mars," he managed to sound arch yet raw, world-weary yet needy. Sometimes you hear a cover and think to yourself that the singer, even if he or she hasn't written the words, must've lived the lyrics. This was one such example.

Thus ended Kevin's portion of the show, as Jon urged Fiona Apple and Sean Watkins to the stage for a couple of tunes. Jon soon returned, though, this time with Matt Chamberlain, to whom he offered the back of a guitar in lieu of anything resembling a drum kit. (Funny enough, Matt's name had come up in conversation at a Wilco show the week before, though he apparently didn't make it to their Seattle gig.) Cementing his reputation as Largo's best sport, Matt accepted the challenge for two whole songs. Jon wasn't too shabby, either, throwing in a set of guitar solos too, before he and Fiona finished out the night with a winsome standard.

Set 1
--piano
--Knock Yourself Out
--Piece of You [new]
--She's At It Again [new]
--new song?
--Amateur
--Walking Through Walls
--Please Stay Away from Me
--Tomorrow Never Knows
--Gigantic
--Don't Stop Believing
--Star Trek theme
--Dark Side of the Moon
--Wish You Were Here
--Positively 4th Street

Set 2
--Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider *
--This Will Be Our Year #
--Lady Stardust #
--Life on Mars *
--In the Pines @
--Jolene @
--Where I Ought to Be &
--Comes Love (Nothing Can Be Done) &
--After You've Gone %

* = Kevin Barnes and Jon Brion
# = Kevin Barnes, Jon Brion, and Benmont Tench
@ = Fiona Apple, Benmont Tench, and Sean Watkins
& = Fiona Apple, Jon Brion, Matt Chamberlain, Benmont Tench, and Sean Watkins
% = Fiona Apple and Jon Brion

See also:
» no matter what the future brings
» first-time high
» with soul power
» three-god night