Real Autotuned Singing: Sarah McQuaid and Martin Sexton

I saw two solid concerts last week here in Urbana-Champaign. What stood out to me about both of them was the incredible vocal quality of both performers. In this age of autotuned recordings, it is an impressive thing to sit back and soak in the sounds of people who have excellent pitch, great control and well-maintained instruments.

Those characteristics apply to both Sarah McQuaid, who I saw last Tuesday night as part of the Piper's Hut concert series, and Martin Sexton, who played at the Canopy Club in a distressingly early show last Wednesday evening.

Sarah McQuaid at the Independent Media Center

Sarah McQuaid, I had never seen before. Born in Spain, raised in Chicago, 13 years in Ireland and now living in Cornwall, she brings all of those possible influences and more into her music. She opened up with an a capella version of "The Wagoner's Lad," and she had me sold. From that Appalachian classic, she moved onto "The Next Market Day" (a traditional song about going for a roll in the hay) and then "Ya Se Murio El Burro" (a traditional Spanish children's song about a dead donkey).

Her singing was terrific, and her voyages into the (traditional) American song catalogue were highly enjoyable: "In the Pines," "East Virginia" (which she learned from a Joan Baez record that she spun on her Mickey Mouse record player as a child), an instrumental version of "Shady Grove" (on her DADGAD-tuned guitar -- she wrote the book), "West Virginia Boys" (with pink tambourine accompaniment), Bobby Gentry's "Ode to Billy Joe" and then Jerry Jeff Walker's "Mr. Bojangles" as an encore.

From the other side of the Atlantic, she gave us "Johnny Lad" (a Robert Burns song that she learned at an Irish festival being held at a German club in Philadelphia), "The Banks of the Lee" (which she called "When Two Lovers Meet") and Ewan MacColl's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face."

Her original compositions were good -- "Only an Emotion" was about disliking the British habit of telling you that you're not allowed to walk around scowling, while "Aqui Me Pinte Yo" was inspired by a Frida Kahlo painting.

Martin Sexton at the Canopy Club

When I was in high school, I used to wear a Martin Sexton pin on my backpack (right next to the huge Nields sticker) -- it was the cover to Black Sheep, his second album. Despite wearing that pin, I actually was not a terribly big fan of his music.

Well maybe I should have been inspired by the pin and listened to that disc a little bit more often...

Because Martin Sexton is awesome. I thought this when I saw him play a magical set at Falcon Ridge back in 2008. And I thought it last Wednesday night.

You want control? He has amazing vocal control. You want pitch? He has it in the low range and the high range. You want a human beatbox? He can do it. You want some bluesy guitar? He's got that covered. You want well-crafted songs? Call Marty. You want a segue into Led Zeppelin's "Since I Been Lovin' You"? He's on it. "Helter Skelter" with some guitar percussion? That's next.

He has his shtick down, but he seems to be enjoying it. He took the stage and started banging away on the guitar and giving us the beatbox, and the crowd started singing along, and we were off on a great ride.

He was having fun. "Living a Lie" was dedicated to "muthaf*ckas working a corporate job who wish they had started an electronica band." Another was for "anybody on their last date -- and I mean it." And then there was a song about meeting his wife in New York: "Aw, isn't that sweet? ... The original version is all dirty sex positions at the end."

"Angeline" and "Gypsy Woman" were highlights, and despite doing a rap about being thankful that he's not one of those performers who has to play the same songs every night, he played both "Glory Bound" and "Black Sheep." (So, um, really, Marty?) But whatever, because it's not like I've been able to take "Glory Bound" off the stereo for the last five days...

For his encore, he brought a new microphone out into the crowd, told the people in back to stop talking and treated us to an intimate number from the floor.

This was his Urbana debut apparently, and I hope that I get the chance to see him here again soon. (It would be great, though, if the show starts after the sun has set, I think... Maybe there would be a few more people in the crowd then, and it wouldn't, for Marty, be "like Cambridge, Mass, back in 1993." But again, whatever... He brought it.)

Here's the performance of "Glory Bound" from Falcon Ridge three years ago -- not the greatest sound quality, but you can find about 50 other YouTube versions if you don't like this one:

The Low Anthem at Jazz Fest

I returned late last night from a trip to New Orleans that was ostensibly about Jazz Fest but was really more about old stomping grounds, great friends, and amazing food than music. I did, however, manage to make it to Jazz Fest for a few hours before catching my plane back home. We unknowingly walked through the gate on Gentilly to the sounds of the Low Anthem and like moths to a flame, were drawn closer and closer to the stage.

Although the sound at the show didn't do justice to the harmonies, the performance was solid--earnest and intentional and of a well-executed roots rock aesthetic. These were serious musicians clearly putting their accumulated understanding of their songs into a mid-afternoon set. The crowd was enjoying the music, but was also talking. I wondered, as the band helped me ease into the afternoon, whether there was room among the food and beer and multiple stages, for those hushed moments that serious musicians are capable of creating. I wondered this, and then the Low Anthem played an intense, beautiful version of "Bird on a Wire" to close their set. It settled over the crowd slowly, a quieting and calming sound.

The video above is from about a month ago but is similar to the version I heard in New Orleans.

Overtones of Appalachia in Champaign: The Honey Dewdrops at the Champaign Public Library

Watching Laura Wortman and Kagey Parrish step up to the single microphone in the Champaign Public Library's Robeson Pavilion Room, I was prepared to hear some old-time-style tunes; what I wasn't prepared for was the amazing warmth and depth of the sound. I mean, this was just two voices and two guitars, right? But that magical microphone in between them captured all of that sound and made the spacious room shrink down a little smaller; I think that it even struck up the fire in the (non-existent) fireplace. Being so used to full-on, full-sounding bands, I was really pleased that my ears could perk up this way to a duo.

Throughout their set, The Honey Dewdrops sounded close and rich. Laura's singing features that lovely Virginia slur, where the notes blend together, forcing you to follow the song along. Kagey adds in the right harmonies throughout. And the mixing of their stringed instruments below supports the mixing of their vocal instruments above.

"Nobody in This World" is a perfect example of what this band is. It was an original tune that could as easily have been a Carter Family standard. Kagey played mandolin, and we might as well have been on their back porch in Charlottesville.

They mostly played originals over the course of a one-hour set. My favorite was "Amaranth," the lead track on their most recent disc, These Old Roots. Inspired by a Love Lies Bleeding Amaranth in their garden, they wrote the song from the plant's point of view -- a non-fading flower left for a love that has never come.

They also showed their love of the tradition, stringing together a banjo and guitar version of "Going Across the Sea," a take on "Angeline the Baker" that featured just the right amount of rollick in the banjo, and then an a capella version of "Bright Morning Star." Their version of a contemporary song was a mandolin-and-guitar version of The Beatles' "Across the Universe."

And then they did end the set with a song by that Virginian First Family of Country Music, the Carter Family, "Sow 'Em on the Mountain."

They took no encore -- and more power to them for that -- and were a pleasure to chat with after the show.

I'm really glad that I got a chance to see these guys, and I hope that they'll hit your town soon, too.

Robert Browning's Retirement from the World Music Institute

Catching up on some reading, I've just discovered that Robert Browning is retiring as the head of New York's World Music Institute.

The WMI-sponsored concerts that I attended over the years actually tended to feature artists from the United States -- I remember a great old-time stringband show with the Whitetop Mountain Band and a show with Cajun supergroup Beausoleil -- but I nonetheless always appreciated the diverse series that WMI sponsored.

I also was interested to learn about Browning's role in founding the Alternative Museum:

[Browning] came to New York in 1974, and the next year helped found the Alternative Center for International Arts (later the Alternative Museum), where he began putting on concerts by artists from far-flung places. The World Music Institute — which Mr. Browning operates with his wife, Helene, the organization’s indomitable publicist — has presented more than 1,500 concerts on stages throughout the city and has been behind landmark events like the first American tour by the Pakistani singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

Chris Smither and Patty Larkin @ The Latchis Theater, Brattleboro, VT, April 9th, 2011

Last night, after a long day that included an early morning run, a hike up and down a mountain, and an hour’s worth of walking around Brattleboro, I planted my butt in one of the old, battered seats of the Latchis Theater to listen to Chris Smither and Patty Larkin play their guitars and sing. This was my first time in the Latchis, and it’s a beautiful place. The décor is faux-classical, with columns and murals depicting scenes from antiquity. Sitting in the third row of the theater, front and center, I spent at least a minute simply staring up at the ceiling, which is deep blue with mythical beasts outlined in white.

I saw Chris and Patty play together this past December at the Half the Sky benefit concert in Arlington and, while I’m always happy to see Chris, I was particularly eager to see Patty this time around. Her agile, intricate guitar playing and deep, surprising melodies were a treasure of the Arlington show, and I wanted to see if there was more to it than a single concert. I wasn’t disappointed, although when Chris opened the show, I stopped thinking about her. He was in unusually strong form. From the opening moment, as the foot-tapping and guitar lick announced “Don’t Call Me Stranger” to open the show, he proceeded to own the stage. Song after song bit and held, just like they always do, and his singing was passionate and nuanced. Songs from his latest album preceded “Love You Like a Man,” which I haven’t heard him play in a while now, and “No Love Today,” for which he invited Patty to come onstage and sing harmonies. By that time, I was yearning for a full Chris Smither set.

After Chris left the stage, leaving Patty to a play set of half a dozen songs. She began with “Tango,” which she played at the Arlington show. It’s full of beautiful, intricate picking and strumming and banging, and there wasn’t a dull moment in the song. “The Cranes” was less impressive, but the rest of her set was gold, from “The Book I’m Not Reading” to “Pablo Neruda” to “Dear Heart.” That last one featured the electric guitar and the violin bow and, just as it did the last time I heard her do it, it moved me. It’s a great one. At some point soon, I need to sit down with a CD of hers and give it a good listen, because I’m starting to think I’ve been missing out.

Patty’s set preceded a 20 minute intermission, after which the two musicians returned to the stage to play a set together. Patty, I was pleased to hear, stood toe-to-toe with Chris (figuratively, I mean). Not that it was a competition, but I’m a big Chris Smither fan, and it’s asking a bit much to expect a stagemate of his to play songs the equal of “Can’t Shake These Blues” or “Train Home,” both of which he wowed me with Saturday night. I didn’t know the songs Patty played in her second set, but her guitar playing and singing were enticing and I certainly didn’t tune out.

Their banter during the duo set was cute. “Play me something,” Chris invited Patty, after he finished his first song. A couple of songs later, Patty broke a string and left the stage to take care of her instrument. Chris told her not to worry. “I’ll play a long one,” he assured her, which wound up being “Drive You Home Again,” one of his greatest. “Now I have a crush on you,” he said later on, after Patty played a particularly tender love song. He responded with “Father’s Day.” “And now I have a crush on you,” she said after it was over. There was some talk about their roots. Knowing he was from New Orleans, she asked him when he moved to Cambridge. When the answer came—1966—it elicited a collective murmur from the audience. He talked about how writing songs was something he forced himself to do after he realized that, as a musician, it was the way to make money. He shrugged. “I was going to be an anthropologist.” “Makes sense,” she replied. “How’d you get out of Wisconsin?” he asked her a bit later. “On a bus,” was the answer. Throughout the set, each would occasionally play a little guitar to accompany each other. She contributed some electric guitar to the finale, “Statesboro Blues,” which features some particularly raucous singing. When they came back out for the encore, Patty had a mandolin with her, and her strumming and harmony singing enriched “Leave the Light On,” which Patty said ought to be in everyone’s songbook. And who could disagree?

Scenes from the Songwriters Exchange at Jack Hardy's Apartment

Here is some footage from a documentary about Suzanne Vega that involves her going to Jack Hardy's apartment for a meeting of the Songwriters Exchange. Jack gives a critique; Suzanne has some trouble opening a Bud Ice -- very cool.



(HT: Steve Winters.)

Tim Robinson at the Postcrypt on April 8th

I've been talking about Tim Robinson writing and playing a tribute to Jack Hardy.

I've been talking about Tim Robinson playing at the Postcrypt.

And now it turns out that Tim Robinson will be playing at the Postcrypt next Friday night, 8 April. So put it down on your calendars, New Yorkers!

He'll be joined by Chris Fuller and a special guest. The last time I saw Tim play, it was with Jack and Chris Fuller at the Postcrypt: I described that night here.

Ambassador of the Bodhran

For those of you who have been demanding footage of Israeli Ambassador Michael Oren playing Irish music with Maryland Governor Martin O'Malley, we are pleased to be able to bring you the following:



(HT: Ben Fishman.)

Flashback: Postcrypt Coffeehouse, 7 October 2000

In the last post, I referenced the first time that I ever saw the late Jack Hardy play. With not too much effort actually, I was able to come up with my notes from that night. I've been wanting to write some "flashback" posts for a while, reporting on past concerts that stand out in my mind and for which a documentary record exists thanks to my decade of compulsive notetaking at concerts.

So it was Saturday night 7 October 2000 when the great Jack Hardy marked his return to the Postcrypt, thanks to Tim Robinson's initiative; Tim also had arranged for Frank Tedesso, another stalwart of the downtown Fast Folk scene, to be on the bill. My father was up from Connecticut. Postcrypt stalwart Heather Otrando was volunteering behind the bar along with Linda, a graduate student in East Asian Languages and Culture. All the performers were there by the 9:00 p.m. start of the show. (I made note of that since it was a rare thing and the more normal circumstance was me sweating it out, hoping that the next act was going to show up in time.) The audience was small.

Tim Robinson played the first 45 minute set. He opened with what I described in my notes as a "song about singing" and then played "Paris," his great song about "a New Yorker dreaming of Paris." He played "Out on the Edge" and the terrific "St. Jerome." And about halfway through the set, he said, "I saw Hardy out there earlier writing 'legendary' over his name in red pen!" which, as I pointed out in the previous post, had actually been my father.

Frank Tedesso played second. Playing to the Postcrypt home crowd, he opened with "Edgar Allan Poe Is Gettin His Shit Together & He's Looking For Work," which describes New York University knocking down Poe's house and claims that the same thing wouldn't have happened at Columbia. He told the story of a woman dumping him by saying that their energy fields were not aligned: "What could I do? Quantum physics aren't my thing. ... So I got drunk for a couple of weeks and fought with my friends, and then I wrote this song about it..." The song "You Can Learn a Lot from Birds" had a number of impressive lines in it: "You can learn a lot from the French / But not as much as you can learn from birds," and "My hearts in hock to things I can't even name" were the ones I wrote down.

Tedesso concluded his set by encouraging the audience to stick around for Jack's set, saying, "Jack is a great songwriter, but he's really generous, too. And that's hard to find in any endeavor. ... Don't get me wrong -- he's a motherf*cker, too..."

And then when I took the stage to introduce Jack, I apparently -- I have no memory of this, to tell you the truth, but the notebook says so -- introduced him as "a folk-singing motherf*cker."

I guess that got our relationship off to a good start at any rate...

He opened his set with the "Uley Mill Song," which in my notes gets erroneously named "The Tyrants of Bonaparte," but which became an instant favorite of mine. Then he played "Faded Old Rose" and another song that is likely from Bandolier, but which I have described only as "song about horse and old cowboy." I have the next song listed as "The Island," and I am at a loss to figure out what song that might have been. I noted that it had "lovely words."

"The Lady Turned Away" and "The Sword in the Stone" followed next. The latter song contains the verse

She was writing in the corner
A candle and empty chair
With freckles from 'cross the ocean
And strawberry blond hair

and I apparently thought that might refer to one of the evening's Postcrypt volunteers. Not sure if I am confessing my own smittenness to my notebook there or what...

"Singer's Lament" was followed by "Night Train to Paris" (by request); I noted my approval of the line "Take the night train to Paris / You hopelessly romantic fool." "Dún Do Shúile" was followed by "Forget-Me-Not" and then "The Zephyr."

At this point, Michael, the evening's alcohol proctor (the individual tasked by Columbia University with making sure that there was no underage drinking at the Postcrypt) announced to me that the 'Crypt was "the best kept secret on campus!"

"Memphis" and then a song that I have erroneously named "The Calling" in my notes -- "The Hunter" perhaps? (Seems more likely than "The Coyote" or "The Cauldron" as a closer.) Jack noted, "I haven't played this in a while; it should be fun."

Getting called back on stage, Jack said, "The benefit of going last is that you get to do an encore," and by request, he played "The Black Hole."

And that was my live introduction to the great Jack Hardy: a nice selection of songs old-and-new and a relaxed evening of music.

Tim Robinson Tribute to Jack Hardy

The first time that I met Jack Hardy was when he played the Postcrypt while I was the manager. I had booked Tim Robinson to be part of a bill one night, and Tim suggested that we add Jack to the evening. I jumped at the chance -- I had never seen Jack live, but I knew what an important figure he was in the folk music world. My father came down from Connecticut for the show, and on the board announcing the musicians for the night that we put at the door to the chapel, my father had written "The Legendary Jack Hardy." When Tim showed up, he said, "I see that Jack's been upstairs with a marker..." The evening was as magical as one could have hoped, and I became a bigger fan of the music and a dedicated fan of the man.

Here's a terrific song that Tim has written in memory of Jack.

The wax-covered candle in the foreground looks like it could have been lifted from the Postcrypt (although I believe that the fire marshal has forced the 'Crypt to retire all of those candles now...).

JACK OF HEARTS

I’m okay with numbers
...Chances are I’ll bury you
But not yet – it’s just too early
And there’s lotsa shit to do
There’s the business of the bending
Of the language into song
And the drinking of our sorrows
And the hanging on too long…

To a woman’s raging beauty
To the thunder on the hill
And your body may cry, uncle
But your spirit never will
So here it is, Ash Wednesday
And all things dust to dust
Still I’m begging you to linger
While I’m begging you to trust…

That there’s some kind of forever
Where your brothers wait for you
And a fine roper’s saddle
And that Colorado blue
But that’s all for tomorrow
For today is good enough
To live a little longer
Here in our relentless love…

For you and your wonder
At the stories in our bones
You, laughing so easy
And then driving on alone
As always through some darkness
To where the darkness parts
Back to the beginning
Where the next song starts… Jack of hearts

New Yorkers: check out Tim live on Sunday night (March 20th) at the Rockwood Music Hall.