Friday, November 30, 2007

A Swell Show: The Swell Season at the Lincoln Theatre

First, let me apologize: I've been meaning to post for quite some time, but haven't.

The wife and I drove up to D.C. a few weeks ago to see The Swell Season. Months prior, we went with some friends to see Waitress (see my blog here: My Name Is Not Earl) and caught the trailer for Once. That small bit was so addictive that Mandy bought the soundtrack and put it into heavy rotation. We vowed to see the film if/when it came anywhere near us. Sure enough, long after it opened other places, it came to Greensboro. We went. I think we were the only ones in the theatre.

Suffice to say, the film is excellent. Thematically, it doesn't stray too far into the wild—it's a classic story. Two people meet, kind of fall in love, and then go their separate ways—much like Before Sunrise. What makes Once so damn engaging, though, is the music. The music is so integral to the story that I would make the case that it is the true protagonist of the film. We root as much for the music as we do for Glen and Marketa (not actually named in the film). The music has to find an audience—and it does, through the help of honest lovers (and I don't just mean Glen and Marketa; everyone who hears the music becomes an agent of its creation).

But that's the movie. As it turns out, Glen Hansard (front man for the Frames) and Marketa Irglova made an album prior to making Once. That album, titled The Swell Season, inspired the film (a blend of fact and fiction) and many of the tracks from the original album made it to the film. Through the wonders of Myspace, Mandy connected to The Swell Season's site—and found out that Glen and Marketa were touring. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the closest they were going to come to Greensboro was D.C. Having spent our anniversary in D.C. last May, we both thought it best to try for the D.C. show.

I got tickets and reserved a room at the AppHouse (benefits of being an alumnus!).

It's not an exaggeration to say that the show is in my current top five best shows.

Let me back up and give a few details:

  1. The AppHouse is a $1.35 Metro ride from the Lincoln Theatre.
  2. Having spent the previous night out late (well, late for us) with my Aunt Bebe, we decided to sleep in. By the time we had lunch it was about 1pm.
  3. Late lunch and residual sickness (I was afraid we wouldn't even make it to the show because Mandy had been sick all week) led to a nap before the show.
  4. The idea was to make the trip down to the theatre a couple hours before the show, find some place to eat, and then go to the show.
  5. We found out (internet) that there is an Ethiopian restaurant across the street from the theatre. That was going to be our destination.
  6. We emerged from the Metro at about 6pm.
  7. There was already a line outside the theatre.
  8. The reason a line mattered: Tickets were general admission. And unlike some other general admission shows, the theatre has seats. Those at the front of the line had first pick (free for all, actually).
  9. Luckily (or unluckily), there was a Quizno's by the station.
  10. I horked down a meatball sub in less than five minutes (during which we lost probably about ten spots in the line), and we bolted across the street.
  11. It was cold.
  12. They opened the doors right at 7pm.
  13. Our waiting paid off.
  14. And now I'll stop with the numbering…

While we didn't get front row center, we got front row to the right side of the stage (stage left). Unless we had gotten to the theatre before six, there's no way we could have gotten any better seats.

The semi-bad news: We weren't sure if there would be an opening act. Since we were dependent upon the Metro, we kind of hoped there wouldn't be an opening act.

There was an opening act: Martha Wainwright.

She wasn't bad, but… Opening acts are always a question mark. My friend Brian Candler and I have had long conversations about the function of the opening act. Does the opening act intentionally suck in order to prime the audience for the main act? Does the promoter pick like-minded artists to better package the experience? Does the club shuffle in local bands to fill the void? Does the main act pick the opener in an effort to get some friends heard? More often than not, many openers fall short of being really good. Granted, I have gone just to see opening acts (I went to see Eric Bachmann, not the Delgados), and I've been turned on to a few of them (Mates of State, The Standard), but for the most part…

Martha Wainwright falls into (I think) the like-minded category. She was a one woman show. Acoustic guitar and soft/loud arrangements. I will say two things (positives): she can play a mean guitar and she is definitely intense. Beyond that? I often have this thought while listening to opening acts: "I think I really like this… no, wait. I think I’m being taken advantage of. This isn't as good as I think it is…" With Martha, I kept swinging back and forth between really liking her and hoping she would just finish. I think she was just a little too intense for her own good. Intensity without honesty? Was she simply trying too hard? Or was I missing something? Mandy admitted (the next day in the car on the way home) that she decided she didn't like her. I'm still on the fence.

Okay, so off went Martha (she would later come out during the encore to join Glen and Marketa). There was the usual waiting period between the two acts. And then…

What confusion I had about Martha's sincerity cleared out of me with the first chord struck on Glen's worn out Takamine. We really couldn't have asked for better seats. The sound mix was excellent, and the cloud of incense smoke rising from behind the musicians was intoxicating. I read review elsewhere that said there was more than incense in the air up in the balcony…

Highlights from the show: Glen's haunting and full, open, bleeding heart on "Leave"; Glen's growl and swagger through Van Morrison's "Astral Weeks"; everything that put Marketa upfront; the sweet "Star, Star"; the rollicking cover of "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere."

Let me say a bit about those Glen moments. One of the things that he's clearly good at is the crescendo—from soft and plaintive to full-on, guitar shredding and scream-singing. This was best felt on his solo rendition of "Leave." Glen clearly knows the pain of lost love—the agony of still loving someone who no longer loves you. I don't think I've ever heard a song that so captures that mixture of borderline despair and hopeless yearning.

Interestingly enough, what further endeared me to Glen was his stage banter. As I get older, I become increasingly attracted to the storytelling inherent in music. I long to hear, too, that the people whose music I so respect can back it up with solid, honest wit and wisdom. It was listening to 70's Tom Waits bootlegs that really got me hooked on stage patter. Waits was a storyteller, and his stage banter was never just "Thank you" and "This is off my first album." He carefully rehearsed his bits like a comedian. From bootleg to bootleg you can hear subtle variations and additions—a honing of the storytelling craft.

While I don't think Glen rehearses his bits, he is obviously comfortable on stage, and has something to say. In D.C., he waxed philosophic about beer at one point, coming close to my ruminations in Belly Up, Pint Down. Mandy turned to me at that point, shook her head and half rolled her eyes. But here again, Glen's banter (and by extension, Marketa's) illustrated that key point: What makes the music so good is honest storytelling.

A good summation of this point comes with "Star, Star." You can listen to a performance of "Star, Star" on NPR's World CafĂ© Next (Click here). It's a sweet Frames number but, in the middle, it veers into "Pure Imagination" from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Glen recites a phrase from the movie ("It's all yours Charlie. The whole chocolate factory. I'm giving it to you. You've won.") and everything falls into place. This sentiment encapsulates the transcendence that comes at the end of a really good story. Having made the journey (sat and watched/listened) you've grown with the artist. The argument of Willy Wonka is that the audience is Charlie. We've won. Otherwise, we're down in the bowels of the factory getting the blueberry juice squeezed out of us…

With "Star, Star," Glen brought the audience to that point and gave us the chocolate factory.

Then there's the honest musicianship. Until Glen said he was going to play a Van Morrison song, I hadn't really pondered the connection. Best Irish songwriter, Glen said, and I thought, "Perfect." Then he launched, on his own, into "Astral Weeks." Oh man, was it good. A few bars into the song, he down-tuned without missing a beat and I could feel the tune sink deeper into my gut. Anyone who can do that, well…

That was the point in the show where I crossed over. "Astral Weeks" brought me through to the other side.

Years ago, I came to a realization about skiing: All the trouble that went into getting to the mountain. All the time spent putting on gear and riding ski lifts. All the money, effort, and time expended always outweighed the actual time spent skiing. But it was all worth it for that one run. That one perfect run where everything came together and clicked. Nothing else mattered before or after that one run. That's how I felt about Glen's version of "Astral Weeks."

On to Marketa…

There's something quite mesmerizing about a tiny woman with a big, beat up guitar, performing beautiful tunes like an old pro. When she sat down for one number (one of the best of the evening), the stage manager (who joined in on electric guitar for the Bob Dylan cover) came out to re-adjust the mic stand with little success. She kept playing and singing un-phased—and yeah, great stuff.

The best performance from Marketa was her rendition of "All The Way Down," a song that Glen sings on the Once soundtrack. It was far more haunting to hear Marketa sing "You have broken me all the way down." What would have otherwise fallen in line with Glen's "Leave" thematically, took on overtones of domestic abuse. Haunting, indeed, and sublime.

Wait. Don't mistake that. I've often been transfixed amidst the connotations of "sublime." Terrible beauty. Beauty in the face of horror. Tragedy best at its worst. I am certainly not condoning domestic abuse—but the warmth that Marketa's voice brought to the song doubled the tragedy—and deepened the song for me. While Glen brought me through to the other side with "Astral Weeks," Marketa took me to another place—one no less moving (is there a contradiction here? o well).

And that's where I'm headed with this. Ultimately, what made this show so damn good was that it had a little bit of everything. From whimsy (a song about a dog), to heartbreak ("Leave"), to the sublime ("All the way down"), to glimmers of hope ("Falling Slowly"), to musical revelation ("Astral Weeks"), to good old swingin' ditties (Michelle Shocked's "Fog Town" and Dylan's ""You Ain't Goin' Nowhere"). We got the complete package. I can think of few other better ways to spend an evening.

Bob Dylan's "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" was the show capper. And it was a perfect end note. I've downloaded the track from the I’m Not There soundtrack, and while it doesn't have the same immediacy of the live performance, it's a good indicator of the show's energy.

Anyway, that's about all I have to say about that…