Local folk favorites Tall Heights played the Sinclair last Thursday and they brought a full house of devoted fans, as well as some incongruous but interesting openers.
Seth Glier‘s music was not for me. That’s about all I can say. To explain why I can’t criticize his music, let me detail some of the non-musical highlights from his set:
-Seth tells the audience that the greatest influence on his songwriting is his nonverbal autistic brother, who taught him the importance of communicating without words.
-Seth steps to the front of the stage between songs to tell the audience that instead of buying his album, they should donate $28 a month to a child in a third-world country through an organization he’s promoting—that he encourages it so much, if they sign up he will give them an album. He goes on to tell the story of an adopted child who, during his first conversation with his donors, asks if he can call them “mom and dad.” The entire audience coos in unison, save for one cynical blogger who, as it happens, may not have a heart.
-Seth escorts his saxophonist, who is blind, across the stage as he exits.
I don’t care how hammy it was or how suspicious you are of his sincerity: you try writing an unfavorable review after that. If you love Michael Bolton and being a good person, go see Seth Glier.
While I don’t like being pandered to, I do love smooth jazz. I’m not sure where it comes from, and I’ve never been to see any live before, but I can’t get enough of it—particularly the kind that rocks. Having known nothing about Emily Elbert before this show, I got everything I could’ve hoped for in a jazz show. Elbert, on guitar, was rocking complicated, tasty riffs nonchalantly while belting somewhere between Edie Brickell and Emilie-Claire Barlow. Her bassist was jamming and using every fret on his 5-string electric, complimenting every turn of every jazz chord perfectly (this was their first show together, which is almost unbelievable). The drummer held the same great backbeat for every song, which is sort of the territory for smooth jazz, but he remained interesting and fun to watch while keeping the energy up.
When the rest of the band left and she did a solo cover of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” she emulated Norah Jones and it was flawless. Then her band came back on and they tore it up once again. I would have thought that just three people playing up-tempo jazz with no keyboards, no flute, no horns, would’ve sounded empty, especially in such a big hall. Not at all. No disrespect to anyone else in the lineup, but I wanted to listen to these three all night.
Tall Heights came on and it was clear that while the crowd was enjoying the music prior, just about everyone was there to see these two. My experience with folk-rock is limited, so forgive me if I use terms like “hoedown.”
While Tall Heights played one or two upbeat songs straight from a hoedown, dark and brooding is definitely their thing, and they owned their thing. Most songs built slowly and to impressive levels, considering there are only two of them on stage. Most vocals were sung in unison in harmonies so tight you could literally hear them take breaths together, with the occasional slow “ooh” right out of a Shins album. I couldn’t tell who was singing which voice. I think they traded off harmony and melody, but that’s a guess.
Paul Wright played the stand-up (strapped-on) cello with such fluidity, going from flowing orchestral chords, into walking plucks, and then to lightning-fast chopping like it was nothing. Tim Harrington took on guitar in a similar way, transform the mood with just a slight rhythm variation.
They broke into a cover of R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” which was a clear highlight, getting the audience to sing the “that was just a dream” part for a few minutes to build back up to an explosion of a chorus. Other local folker Ryan Montbleu joined them on stage for a cover of Tracy Chapman’s (who I learned is also local) “Fast Car,” which they nailed, as well as the encore. Both openers were called out and each sang a verse from one of their heart-tugging ballads. While they had those guests up to sing, most of the show when was just the two of them on stage wailing, but they were never singing alone: the audience knew every word from every song.
Their stage presence was very bashful: they were charming and funny, talking about their time busking in Faneuil Hall, dissecting some of the song lyrics, and letting the audience gush openly. It’s obvious they really love Boston, taking the gentlest, most good-natured of jabs at New York, where they had played the night prior. It never came off as pandering, just as a homecoming. Their demeanor came off as “shucks, you really like us?” And the audience, including one cynical blogger, ate it up.