Tag Archives: Royal Festival Hall

Iron and Wine & Calexico @ the Royal Festival Hall, 23 November

I’ve gotten a lot from the recent records by both artists, so was really excited to see them play live together, especially after hearing their new collaborative album Years to Burn, which came out in the spring, and rating it pretty highly.

The set began with Follow the Water, which may be my favourite track from the album. The band immediately swung into gear, and if Joey Burns hit a bad note on lead guitar and Sam Beam’s vocal was a little quiet as the sound guys worked out the level, it was no big.

Next was He Lays in the Reins, with Burns taking lead vocal. I guess this was so Beam could cover the harmony, which lies above the range of the melody. It kind of makes you wish that they’d recorded the song as a duet originally, but In the Reins was much more an Iron and Wine EP with Calexico backing him than a 50/50 collaboration.

Next was Father Mountain, on which the Beam/Burns harmonies again sounded great, and Glimpse, a Calexico song.

The centrepiece of Years to Burn is The Bitter Suite, which is made up of two slow songs bookending a jam featuring some great Miles Davis-style trumpet from Jacob Valenzuela. Other than the trumpet not sounding as echoey and cool as it does on the recording, the band handled the demanding 9-minute piece well. Valenzuela’s lead vocal on Pajaro was mournful and moving, and John Convertino powered through band through Evil Eye, the instrumental section, from behind his drum kit. Tennessee Train, the slow, mournful Sam Beam song that ends the suite, is spine-tingling on record, but live demonstrated what would be my one gripe about the show.

Beam has a particular type of voice: soft, sad and consistent in timbre across his range. He began as an Elliott Smith-style whisperer and evolved into a real singer from there. But he’s not a singer who can adapt the timbre of his voice and sing louder and more open throatedly without his tone becoming hard and brittle. At times on Saturday I felt he over-decorated the melodies of certain songs and sang more strident, arena-sized melodies that didn’t quite suit his voice or the moment. On a song other than Tennessee Train, it might not have mattered, but it did slightly mar one of his best songs.

Next was a really good cover of Lucinda Williams’s I Lost It, and Midnight Sun, which I liked more than its studio recording, but it was maybe a weaker moment in the set in terms of the writing.

Sixteen, Maybe Less was an odd one. Beam botched the lyrics one line in and laughed it off while carrying on the song rather than starting again. The band slid in after the first verse and I soon forgot about Beam’s early flub, but he also forgot lyrics in the second set of verses and instead began talk-singing the verse. Now, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t still a little misty at the end of the song, but as with Tennessee Train, some of Beam’s performance choices took me out of a song I’d expected simply to get lost in.

No problems arose from Flores y Tamales, though. The Spanish-language, cumbia-inflected song from Calexico’s 2018 album The Thread that Keeps Us, sung by Valenzuela, was a real set highlight, as was the short sequence of songs that Beam and Burns sung as a duo.

They began with the old Iron and Wine favourite Naked As We Came, a vehicle for Beam’s deft fingerpicking and the harmonies the pair have perfected (see video above for a radio session). They followed that up with a pair of covers: Chris Gaffney’s Frank’s Tavern, which Calexico have been playing for years and which fits them like a glove (they brought Valenzuela back to the stage to join in on trumpet, and it was great), and the Everly Brothers’ All I Have to Do is Dream, for which they brought back opener Lisa O’Neill. Personally, I didn’t feel that O’Neill’s rough, gnarled voice was a brilliant fit for such a gentle song and would rather have heard Beam sing lead. It was a nice inclusive gesture though.

The band came back on and went into the bluesy Red Dust from In the Reins, on which bass player Sebastian Steinberg played a long double bass solo. Steinberg is an excellent player, but it went on a few minutes too long for my liking, given that it was basically unaccompanied and with no harmonic context. Next was a nice cover of Echo & the Bunnymen’s Bring on the Dancing Horses and Iron and Wine’s Boy with a Coin, on which the band nodded at the arrangement of the recording while taking it somewhere different and cool. Definitely a set highlight.

The final three songs of the set were an absolutely lovely version of Years to Burn, which had all the weary delicacy of the studio recording, a fun version of History of Lovers (never liked the nursery rhyme-ness of this song all that much, but enjoyed it on the night) and What Heaven’s Left, the opening track of Years to Burn, which worked well as a set closer – nicely celebratory, with a cool outro jam featuring lots of John Convertino’s drum fills and Valenzuela’s trumpet.  The encore, short and sweet, was In Your Own Time, which they stripped back compared to the album recording, losing some of the barroom swagger. Still, it was a good song to end on, and the natural, inevitable closer since it hadn’t appeared in the main set.

I’ve seen Calexico a few times now, and they’re never less than impressive. Their collective musicianship is just so good. Convertino is a joy, and Burns has developed into a really effective singer and focal point for the band. Beam was a little more hit and miss. Possibly it was an end-of-tour thing, but I think I’d have enjoyed a couple of the songs more if he’d played them a little straighter, singing the melodies as written and keeping his voice in the dynamic range where it sounds best. Nevertheless, having not seen an iron and Wine gig yet, I’d not hesitate to go next time he’s over here with his band.

A final word about Rob Burger – I’ve not really mentioned his contributions on keyboards and steel guitar, but he was absolutely crucial to the success of the gig. The guy is completely gifted and brilliant.

 

Matthew Caws @ The Islington/Randy Newman @ the Royal Festival Hall

Two gigs in 48 hours, in venues as vastly different as is possible.

On Saturday night I went with Mel and Sara to see Matthew Caws from Nada Surf play a free show at the Islington, announced via his Instagram the day before. The Islington is a tiny venue, with a capacity of maybe 100. I’ve played drums there with Sumner, and it was the place I saw Jon Auer play a wonderful set in August 2014.

It was a really great night. I’m not yet that familiar with his work, although I’ve heard most of Nada Surf’s records, and Get There, the record he made with Juliana Hatfield as Minor Alps. It’s a testament to the quality of his writing, then, that I recognised tracks like See These Bones, Maxon, Your Legs Grow, Ice on the Wing and Always Love in a stripped down, voice-and-guitar setting having heard the recorded originals no more than a few times each.

Nada Surf passed me by in their early years – I know they had a big MTV hit with Popular, but I’ve not knowingly heard it; if he had played it on Saturday, I wouldn’t have recognised it. At this stage of his career, Caws is a world away from MTV Beach House, son-of-Weezerisms. Without getting ponderous or self-serious, his songs have become deeper and richer, his voice remains supple and boyish, and his impressive guitar playing (several songs switched between neat fingerpicking and flatpick strumming) is all he really needs to put the songs over; See These Bones, the last song he played on Saturday, was no less impressive than its recorded counterpart, with nothing lost in translation from full band to solo arrangement.

If it wasn’t quite the experience for me that seeing Jon Auer was, that’s only because I don’t have the long relationship with Matthew Caws’s music that I have with Auer’s work with the Posies. Sara, who is a long-time fan, had a similar experience that I had with the Auer gig, I think, and Mel, who wasn’t familiar with him at all, left intrigued and wanting to hear more.

*

On Monday night, I headed to the rather more august Royal Festival Hall with James and Dan McKean to see Randy Newman.

I’ve not seen too many shows by real veterans. The old guys I see tend to be 40- or 50-something, not 70-something like Newman. His voice, never smooth in his youth, is now a somewhat limited instrument. The effect of this was the opposite of what you might expect. It gave his ballads a fragility that was at times heartbreaking – She Chose Me (a song from Steve Bochco’s Cop Rock, of all things) was a genuine goosebump moment – but hampered the delivery of the ragtimey, satirical songs, which were more declaimed than sung, with the phrasing lacking just a little of the subtlety of the originals.

However, this was a set lasting over two hours (with a 20-minute interval), with time for Newman to play some 30-odd songs (and give us a lot of, uniformly hilarious, anecdotes), and the duds were few and far between. There weren’t many top-tier Newman songs that didn’t get an airing: I Miss You, God’s Song, I Think It’s Going to Rain Today, I Love LA, Birmingham, Marie, Short People, You’ve Got a Friend in Me, Political Science, You Can Leave Your Hat On, Losing You, the stupendous Louisiana 1927, Sail Away, and even the seldom-performed Rednecks (because of its use of the N-word; Newman took pains to explain the character and perspective he adopts within the song, which is something he doesn’t otherwise do).

Shorn of their band arrangements, some of the songs did fall a little flat. I adore I Love LA and have defended its parent album here, but without that triumphant synth riff and triumphalist backing vocals, the song is not what it could otherwise be. Similarly, My Life is Good without the blowhard’s increasingly agitated protests at the end (“My life is good, you old bag!”) as the music gets subtly more dissonant is only half the song. Why not forgo it and play something more suited to a voice-and-piano presentation, like Dayton, Ohio-1903 or He Gives Us All His Love?

Minor quibbles, really.

James once said to me, about the experience of watching Paul McCartney, that after a while, you just stand there in amazement that one man wrote all these songs, and that one man is standing up there singing them. That’s how Monday was for me. I’d give pretty much anything to write a song as good as Louisiana 1927. Hell, to write Short People, even. Newman is one of the greatest, a guy that pretty much every songwriter looks up to in the knowledge that they can’t play on the turf he’s playing on. I got to see him, playing all those songs. It was quite something.

randy_newman_web
This guy