Five months ago, my mind got flipped, turned upside down by the plethora of talented and entertaining musicians at Sasquatch! Music Festival. Over three days, I happily experienced more than 25 complete sets, saw pieces of a few more, and concluded that every single performer I’d seen had put on a flawless show. Except Mayer Hawthorne.
I was super amped for this geeky looking white boy from Ann Arbor, Michigan to walk up on the stage and reinvent Smokey Robinson, blowing my mind with his fresh take on soul. I had read countless rave reviews of his music, heard of his earlier mastery as a DJ and producer, and was psyched to hear him play his hit “Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out.”
When Hawthorne sauntered onto the Sasquatch! stage that day, he was dressed to the nines, flaunting a dapper white suit that perfectly complemented his backup band’s attire. But then he started singing, and it wasn’t long before I was completely confused as to why he was being lauded as the "next big thing." I was overwhelmed, instead, at how un-soul and disengaged he sounded.
Though I had written Hawthorne off, when I heard he was heading to Portland to play the Aladdin, I got interested – a singer can only get better, yeah? As Hawthorne proved to me this week, not always. Yes, he’s got the look and the attitude and the ability to make most girls swoon, but his music did not once feel right to me. It just doesn't sound like the sweet soul he claims to be inspired by. I’m not saying Hawthorne needed to replicate Sam Cooke up there, but he should at least produce a sound that doesn’t feel like it’s been packaged up and delivered via a karaoke machine.
It didn’t help that I’d been annoyed with the idea of him from the second I sat down that night. As two talented and entertaining groups put forth their opening sets, they were forced to deal with the gigantic lettering of "Mayer Hawthorne & The County," shining brightly on both walls of the theater. Truly, it felt tasteless. No matter how big a star someone is, they should always pay their openers respect, and this display seemed to completely go against that. In fairness, his tour is being financed by Mazda, and there was proof of this everywhere. I assume the car company had more to do with the name projection than Hawthorne did, but his cocky stage persona didn’t support that he was against the fact, either.
Fortunately, Hawthorne's openers made the night worth it. The first, Portland’s Soap Collectors, were a pretty interesting quartet that mash up a lovely mix of electronics. It doesn’t always work, but their lead vocalist possesses a set of lungs that can fix anything. Rising and falling without losing an inch of beauty, that voice kept things interesting whenever the rest of the band faltered. Each song was a question of where they were going to place the drum beat, and how fast it was going to be, or what kind of buzz or beep the guy with the laptop was going to produce to aid the sound. It was a fairly great performance, and here’s hoping they’re able to get their stuff together to grow into something even more beautiful.
Then there was Gordon Voidwell, whose dose of electronics was much more flashy and plenty more delicious than anything else that happened that night. Flanked by a determined, wild-haired drummer on an electric kit, and an adorably trendy keyboardist who knew how to belt out the lyrics when she needed to, Voidwell stepped forth as the surprise of the week. His Prince-like vocals team nicely with the super dance-y beats his team lay down, and it all gets stirred into a futuristic ‘80s groove that won’t let your hips stop shaking. It’s colorful, sexy, and exactly what needs to be happening right now. The band’s tune “White Friends” shines like a diamond; a heavy tale of fighting racism, this song flows together with the smoothest and funkiest of rhythms, and when performed at this show, felt like it blew the Hawthorne lights off the wall.
I’m slightly surprised this fresh group got matched up to tour with Mayer Hawthorne, but it's an awesome way to introduce them to the world. Welcome to the real "next big thing," ladies and gentlemen. And in the meantime, I still offer Hawthorne luck in finding his true R&B. He may just need to get back to his work as an excellent producer to do it.
