I’ve been going to concerts since I was eight-years-old. I’ve seen some that blew my mind with imagery, some that juiced my shoes with energy, and some that just plain sucked. But what I can’t say is that I’ve seen many that moved me. And by moved, I mean that the music spoke to a deeper part of me, rather than just allowed me to release one feeling. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve walked out of countless shows ecstatic, but that doesn’t mean I’ve also felt a raw connection with what I saw.
I’m sure some of that is because most artists aren’t able (or willing) to inject insight into the quick spurts demanded by pop music. But it also might be because most people don’t actually want to give you a large window into themselves. There is a reason Blood on the Tracks still seems so potent, and other records seem, well, a little more contained. Without the “give,” you can’t build a bridge between the two worlds of audience and artist, and the “give” is the genesis of a moving performance. The Swell Season’s performance on Friday night was exactly that--moving--and I’m sure you’d be hard-pressed to find someone in that audience that would disagree with me.
Black Francis’ performance wasn’t moving, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t awesome. For those in attendance that didn’t know about Glen Hansard’s affinity for Black Francis’ work with the Pixies or as a solo artist, his inclusion might have seemed shocking. His demeanor wasn’t soft, his words were not tender and his sound was not acoustic, but let's be honest: he has never been a perfect fit for any bill in his life. This man always stands out.
Francis continued to stand out here--not like a sore thumb, but like an alternative rock preacher belting out his warped sermon for more than a few disciples. Casual fans might have been pulled in by his offerings from the Pixies’ catalog, namely, “Cactus,” “Where is My Mind?” and “Nimrod’s Son,” but others like me could take pleasure in the stone-cold grooves of tracks like “Get Away Oil.” During that song he screamed, “Get A-way!...Mouse!” like a banshee riding a musical go-cart. It let you know he still had it and made me wonder if he had improved over time.
The last time I saw him, he was rocking a late-night solo set at Dante’s during last year’s MFNW. Like that show, he brought out songs like “The Black Rider” and “Six Sixty-Six” for the Zoo audience, but unlike that set he did it with a sense of personality. There, he had seemed above the audience, almost standoffish (sounded great though), but this time, he gave the audience a bit more of his wit.
For example, he poked fun at the Zoo’s family friendly atmosphere by informing the audience that, “I promised Glen I wouldn't say the fuck word in front of any C-H-I-L-D.” Another time he alerted us to how he tucked in the shirt section of his denim tuxedo to appear more presentable. Each time everyone laughed, and I’m sure it made him seem a little bit more accessible to the uninitiated. Though I doubt he really cared about that.
In the end he played a solid set, and although the front wasn’t as packed as he probably deserved, everyone still showed him love.
Before The Swell Season came on, I found myself eyeing the loudspeakers and waiting for those dreaded words: “sorry everyone, the show has been canceled.” In fact, I had been preparing myself for this all day after learning that someone committed suicide at last night’s show by leaping onto the stage from three stories up. I wouldn’t have blamed them one bit for canceling after a thing like that, but like the true road warriors they are, they soldiered on and emerged to rapturous applause.
In their live form, The Swell Season is made up of Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglova, and Glen’s bandmates from the Frames; however, when the show began, it was the nucleus of the group, Glen and Marketa that came out. Huddled at center stage around a microphone, they launched into “Cactus.” Yes, the same Pixies song that Black Francis had played not even 30 minutes before. Glen led the way, bellowing deep into the microphone as Marketa weaved in through the spaces, softening his edges. Somewhere along the line, Glen asked, "Did Charles [Black Francis] play this earlier?" and when the crowd responded that he had, he laughed and said, "He promised he wouldn’t.” We laughed with him and welcomed the Frames out once the song finished].
Starting with Strict Joy’s “Low Rising,” the Van Morrison-esque tendencies that inform a number of their songs began to reveal themselves. Closing your eyes you could almost see the leaves change color in autumn as you walked by a stream. Much more Moondance than Astral Weeks, “Low Rising” was a great way to set the mood, and the Van Morrison nods became full-on covers later in the show when they busted out “Into the Mystic.” Good God. It’s one thing to hear it on your headphones, it’s another to see it live. Glen magnified the chorus by utilizing a voice that may be informed by Van, but is yards better. Yeah I said it.
The thing about Glen Hansard’s voice, one of Ireland’s true national treasures, is that it is so soulful. Earlier when I proclaimed this concert as moving, a lot of it stems from how Glen sings the songs. There is this rich, stark quality to his vocal lines that penetrates your being and your emotional center. Some of it is the lyrics, but a lot of it is how forcefully he gives himself over to the music. I don’t know him personally, but from the audience, it appears as though he reveals everything and omits nothing. This seemed especially true when -- during the first song of the encore -- he took a solo position on the left side of the stage and belted out (sans microphone) “Say It To Me Now.” I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Alive in that song is a measure of fragility that borders on uncomfortably personal. It’s crushing, and when Glen screams out “Cause this is what you've waited for!” it almost feels like you can hear a man’s heart being ripped out of his chest. That is connection. That is give.
Not every song had the magic or power of “Say It To Me Now,” but they were all either gripping or lovely. Marketa’s additions usually fell around the latter, especially when she would break from the piano and come sing center stage. Her voice doesn’t get as firey as Glen’s, but it certainly stays with you. It’s a 3am voice, a voice that can sit next to you when you are thinking quietly in the dark. She typically used it as an agent of harmony, and when she did, the songs became better. In general though, she took turns either playing piano or coming off as a sweetheart. Especially when she ran out during one of Glen’s solo songs to hand him some tea. That’s the kind of show it was.
Finally, after a bunch of rotating arrangements (one band member would leave, others would stay), looping Irish-folk violin solos, Frames’ songs ("Revelate!!!"), and crowd sing-a-longs, the band decided to close with another Pixies tune. After explaining how he had become obsessed with the band after buying Surfer Rosa on a whim, Glen told everyone how honored he was to play with Black Francis and dedicated the final song, “Where is My Mind?” to him. The crowd went nuts and went even crazier when Black Francis came out to sing from the second verse on. The song, another second go-round from Black Francis’ set, was even better with a full band. Not to mention Glen had this “I can’t believe this shit is happening to me” smile on his face that made him look like a teenager. He was in total bliss, but then again, so were we.
It was a beautiful way to end the night, and I can't wait until some variation of this band returns. My fingers are crossed for the Frames!
