In one of his many short, funny soliloquies to the audience at Club Passim on Thursday night, Elijah Wyman quipped, “I’m really glad you’re here—makes me nervous. But all good things do. Pretty girls…what else? Dance recitals.” And it’s true: onstage Wyman was a ball of nerves, jittery and frenetic. But when he started playing, all those nervous idiosyncrasies melted away, and the music that washed over a snug and comfortable audience all evening was definitely a good thing.
Wyman’s set closed off a showcase evening of music from three groups signed to Grinding Tapes, a locally based indie folk label. The night started with The Points North, a wintery folk trio that capitalized on diverse instrumentation and intricate harmonies. Combining male and female vocals with muted percussion, they resembled an earthier Peter Paul and Mary, regaling the audience with organic folk tunes. A sparse song about New England’s daughters showcased Regina Peterson’s voice, and a cover of The Pogues’ “If I Should Fall From Grace With God” highlighted the set.
Next up came a stripped-down version of Boston’s own Mr. Sister; lead singer Amelia Emmet came sans compatriots, equipped only with her banjo. Alone onstage, she stole the show. With a powerful voice and piercing glissandos, Emmet embodied the best traits of today’s leading frontwomen—Spektor, Newsom, Diane—but with an edge that is rarely captured on record. Spotlighted in the dark venue, Emmet drew the audience in to a level of intimacy rarely found in rock concerts. Her singing, backed by stark banjo, was beautiful and raw, graceful and gripping. And that banjo . . . phew. Emmet is no back-woods finger picker—her pointed strums help that instrument live up to its percussive roots.
The Mr. Sister set closed with an a cappella song—“The Pest”—that had the audience in a breath-stealing silence. Emmet stood on stage, distant from the microphone due to the sheer strength of her belting, as the crowd watched her transport herself elsewhere in a euphoric delirium. Eyes closed, Emmet finished the show somewhere other than Club Passim, and she took the crowd with her.
Mr. Sister was a tough act to follow, but Elijah Wyman was up to the task. Breaking the wonderful tension of Emmet’s set, Wyman put on one of the most enjoyable sets I’ve seen in a while: stand-up comedy meets middle school talent show meets campfire sing-a-long. The set had the audience joining choruses, clapping, and smiling the entire time.
Wyman, who announced that he would from here on be known as Tiny Mtns, performed a smattering of old and new tunes in support of his new (and now self-titled) EP tiny mtns. He played autoharp and guitar—occasionally supported by friends on clarinet, guitar, and glockenspiel—strumming steadily while using his voice as a melodic weapon. His set was one of tension and resolution, his voice occasionally straining to break free of songs before being reigned in, finally submitting to the key. Between songs he had the audience laughing constantly before restoring order simply by strumming his guitar.
The endearingly nervous frontman was a brilliant conductor of the evening, sharing stories, telling jokes, and generally keeping the mood loose and relaxed. On the venue, he remarked “I’m really excited to play at Club Passim, because they would never book me before. So thanks, Club.” On his antipathy for college: “If my mom wasn’t here, I’d flip the bird to College.” Wyman invited an audience member to play an original song because, “I always wished when I went to see a band I liked they would ask me to play a song.” He brought his wife on stage to hold handwritten lyric sheets to lead audience sing-a-longs.
Indeed, Thursday night in Cambridge embodied what music should be about: young musicians sharing their songs without pretension or elitism. The bands stuck around to watch the other acts play, not from the side of the stage, but from the audience. They played fantastic music and then hugged after the show. And for a city whose concerts occasionally border on impersonal, Thursday night sure felt like a familial Boston music scene.
