Saturday March 7, 2009
Honesty is a hard quality to identify in a performer. While it's difficult to articulate exactly why an artist does not connect, identifying the presence of honesty is often easier. The singer-songwriter is the best conveyor of the elements - the traditional elements - that make up an honest musical performance. Simple story telling from a personal angle. Perfectly paced songs that do not rely on indulgent musicianship or emotional manipulation. Raw talent and plain-faced authenticity.
These performances are elusive in modern music, but you know it when you witness one, when you are part of such a thing. Saturday night at the Corner with John Doe and Jim White was one of these rare shows.
The Corner was in intimate mode this evening, the second stage cordoned off by a burgundy curtain and garden furniture arranged front of stage. At around 10 o'clock John Doe negotiates his way front and stage right. There are no drum kits and few amplifiers, this evenings music would be of a stripped back nature. With his reserved presence and workman-like playing, Doe performs a variety of material off his eight studio albums mixed in with a few covers.
He is a straight forward guitar player, his songs are simple and his worn voice is of limited range. But the performance connects because it is replete with character. The songs are not overtly beautiful or constructed to rise to great emotional heights, yet Doe performs with such honesty and genuine warmth that it is difficult not to be charmed.
Doe is joined on stage by buddy Jim White for a number of songs, contributing soft underpinnings of melodica, vocal harmonies and gentle guitar licks. They chat humorously and exchange barbs and praise, an ongoing feature of the show and a key aspect to the creation of the evening's communal atmosphere.
'The Losing kind' is at once understated and powerful , while the beautiful 'Golden State' is preceded by a tale of Doe's bemusement at a young couple choosing the song for their wedding (opening lines: "You are the hole in my head, I am the pain in your neck") and a great cover of Joni Mitchell's 'A Case of You' provides the highlight of the set. Doe speaks frankly of suicidal thoughts and tells tales from the road, the songs clear reflections of the joy and sorrow he has experienced in his life. It is a brief performance but one full of heart, and Doe expresses his sincere appreciation to the small crowd gathered. The affection is reciprocated, the audience is in good spirits and an air of melancholy hangs in the room. Perfect conditions for Mr Jim White.
Jim White is a true story teller of distinct individuality. He exhibits a tender curiosity for the world, though certain subjects especially fascinate him - The Deep South of America, religion, love and death. Topics that have been cast into country songs countless times over the past century, but it is how White infuses his own character into songs and the innovation he brings to the music that makes this such a memorable performance.
In his semi-Southern drawl, White preludes each song with wholly engaging stories of their origin; often they are hilarious, sometimes dark and sombre. At times these prologues are longer in length than the actual song. Coupled with the literary and gothic style of the lyrics, the set takes on the feel of a reading of short stories. And like a good book of short stories, the form and themes of the complete set enhance each individual piece.
White's eyes are downcast for most of the performance and he is largely emotionless besides the presence of a half smile, but this does not diminish from the level of intimacy he is able to create within the room. This is minimal music that is all about essence, mere slips of songs that are devoid of cynicism and are able to cut straight to the heart through plaintive descriptions of beauty and pain.
'A Town Called Amen' is a good example of White's quiet magic and evocative song writing ability. He performs this gentle song of small town life and hell and brimstone with superb restraint, haunting and embracing with it's shuffling groove and in it's whispered, ghostly images. As Steve Earle has recently done, White breaks from tradition by employing extensive looping in his music; though he has been practicing this "experimental" sound for most of his career. In conjuntion with a few microphones and numerous pedals, White uses his voice (singing high harmonies and puffing breathy beats), harps on a melodica and jangles various forms of percussion to embellish his songs with diverse rhythm. The effect adds variety and interest to the show, though it is clearly done in the name of creativity and not for novelty's sake.
White speaks of the benefits of pessimistic optimism, tells the tale of the saddest prostitute in the world, relates his many and varied forms of employment and provides his offbeat perspective on various bible stories. Many laughs are shared ('God Was Drunk When He made Me' was a riot) though he becomes reflective when speaking of his 10 year old daughter. The song he wrote for her, 'Bluebird', is a touching and lovely song and is played with a poignant delicacy. He talks of a beach-side acid experience that ended in an addled friend rushing into the ocean to tackle a giant water spout, then goes on to play the song that tale bore, 'A Perfect Day to Chase Tornados'.
This is a man who has walked many, many roads in his life and has a remarkable capacity to describe what he has seen on those travels. His final songs blend the pretty ('That Girl From Brownsville, Texas') with the dark (a gorgeous 'Jailbird') but it is the sinister 'The Wound That Never Heals' that leaves a reamining impression. It is the story of Aileen Walters, the notorious female serial killer of the South. White presents neither a damning nor sympathetic perspective of her life, rather he tells a chilling story of her plight and the plight of the men she murdered. It is terrifyingly absorbing. It is yet another string to White's bow - he is able to amuse, enthrall and disturb all in the space of a few songs, sometimes within the same breath. Something only the most honest of story tellers are able do.
by James Baker