Appreciation of music in public can be fragile, as it's so wrapped up in your emotional state. My relaxed demeanour last night was shattered by an unfriendly and hostile greeting from the security staff at Gorilla, who clearly have little empathy for intellectual, middle class music bloggers. My mood failed to recover from the sense of insecurity that this engendered, and the more familiar issue of ill matched support failed to help. The Irish folk singer Lisa O'Neill had little in common musically or culturally with the main act, and would surely have received a more attentive and fuller crowd if she'd opened for a group with with whom she had greater affinity. I found it telling that she had to correct Matthew E White's first name when she expressed the customary thanks, and the dark subject matter went under appreciated, though at least it was possible to hear the lyrics.
Yet, if you'd attended this gig because, like me, you enjoyed Matthew E White's studio work, your expectations were also likely to have been confounded. As he himself admitted, the four piece touring band sounds nothing like his albums' rich tapestry of sound. Unlike Sufjan Stevens, this lover of lush maximalism feels ill at ease so drastically stripped down. He's a linchpin of the Richmond, Virginia musical community, bringing together 30 local musicians on his first album, Big Inner. This was conceived as a showcase for his label, Spacebomb Records, and only its unexpected success lead him to record a sequel. Fresh Blood has continuity of style with his debut and has had a largely positive reception. Both albums are incredibly subtle and sensitively recorded: the brass and strings were sorely missed live, although his drummer sounded tight.
Touring clearly takes its toll on Matthew: 18 months on the road with Big Inner lead him to develop stress induced shingles. The expectation of playing festivals, and performing on larger stages makes me suspect he's succumbed to pressure to construct an artificial, extrovert side to the act. In 2013, in the more convivial surroundings of Sound Control, his demeanour felt natural. Last night, seemingly endless, tedious between song chatter about football and Anglo American cultural differences shattered the magic of the subtle inner journey depicted in the songs. Hopefully, he will come to recognise that introverted musicianship alone can provide deep insights, and it isn't obligatory to orchestrate incongruous hand clapping or try to compensate for a lack of dancing with a comedy act. This music takes time to absorb and appreciate; I'd recommend you explore it at your leisure, alone and away from venues with little interested in nurturing talent sympathetically. I shouldn't have been surprised that the lighting was insensitive and incongruous last night, though this was far from the greatest disappointment.
The new hit Rock and Roll is Cold was however conceived as an upbeat song, with influences of funk, southern soul motown, and 70's pop. It's therefore unfortunate that, as for much of remainder of the set, the vocals were obscured by the rhythm section. Matthew's voice is a subdued baritone, sometimes a croon; at other times almost a creepy whisper. It's therefore particularly vulnerable to balance problems, which were so severe from the front row that some songs in the 75 minute main set were indistinguishable (I made a rare, but telling decision to skip the encores). The jam-like instrumental sections provided respite from frustration about the hidden vocals and inability to discern the lyrics. Yet, it's Matthew's work in the studio, and with his label, that demonstrate the exquisite collaborative musicianship that was obscured last night. In particular, Space Bomb Records is behind one of the year's strongest releases from Natalie Prass, which has a gorgeously lush Hollywood sound. With luck, her genius will prove more resilient to the translation to a live context when I see her in June than Matthew's appears to be on this tour.
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