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But you can sing me anything.
Feb. 28th, 2010 01:15 amBack a little over an hour ago from seeing Peter Mulvey (with Eve Goldberg opening) at a house show out in the extreme west end. It was a beautiful old house -- forced air heating vents and molded ceilings and wood, and yes, I ogle architecture so sue me -- and there was this lovely snowfall on the ground when we got there, enough that Partner in Concert Mike and I took a little stroll around the neighbourhood, just looking at the pretty houses and spending quality time with the snow.
And this was seriously one of the better small shows I've ever seen.
The audience was about 20 people large, most of whom seemed to be musicians of various sorts who had done a songwriting workshop in the afternoon and were doing a jam session after the show. Most of the people in the room knew each other, and knew the opener. This meant both that the room was really comfortable from the start and that half her songs were...her and a guitar and then the sort of half-muttered, soft harmonizing you get when people are singing along or just tossing in impromptu variations on something they know like the back of their hands. It was like sitting in the middle of a choir, kind of soothing and participatory and sweet.
Peter Mulvey did two sets and probably fifteen songs in total including an encore, and does a hell of a live show. He's personable and funny and tells stories in this doesn't-miss-a-beat way with fantastic offhand comic timing. It was a mix of songs and spoken word stuff off his new album, and the spoken word stuff was...eerily beautiful and powerful. The songs were a mix of stuff I knew (Shirt, Knuckleball Suite, Wings of the Ragman, Abilene) and things I didn't know and some fantastic covers: The Magnetic Fields' "The Book of Love" and the Jayhawks' "Bicycle" and a song from Anais Mitchell (who I really need to check out, because post-apocalyptic Depression-influenced operatic retelling of the Orpheus myth? Hello, pure twice-distilled crack for Leahs) and an incredible stripped-down bluesy one of "Everybody Knows".
And between these two sets was a casual sort of intermission with snacks and hot cider and chatting and nanaimo bars, and the whole thing was just fabulously warm and friendly and full of palpable delight.
I have two signed CDs, a warm giddy glow, and the satisfaction of not having splutteringly fangirled all over Peter Mulvey even though I really really wanted to.
Good concert, monkeys. Super good.
And this was seriously one of the better small shows I've ever seen.
The audience was about 20 people large, most of whom seemed to be musicians of various sorts who had done a songwriting workshop in the afternoon and were doing a jam session after the show. Most of the people in the room knew each other, and knew the opener. This meant both that the room was really comfortable from the start and that half her songs were...her and a guitar and then the sort of half-muttered, soft harmonizing you get when people are singing along or just tossing in impromptu variations on something they know like the back of their hands. It was like sitting in the middle of a choir, kind of soothing and participatory and sweet.
Peter Mulvey did two sets and probably fifteen songs in total including an encore, and does a hell of a live show. He's personable and funny and tells stories in this doesn't-miss-a-beat way with fantastic offhand comic timing. It was a mix of songs and spoken word stuff off his new album, and the spoken word stuff was...eerily beautiful and powerful. The songs were a mix of stuff I knew (Shirt, Knuckleball Suite, Wings of the Ragman, Abilene) and things I didn't know and some fantastic covers: The Magnetic Fields' "The Book of Love" and the Jayhawks' "Bicycle" and a song from Anais Mitchell (who I really need to check out, because post-apocalyptic Depression-influenced operatic retelling of the Orpheus myth? Hello, pure twice-distilled crack for Leahs) and an incredible stripped-down bluesy one of "Everybody Knows".
And between these two sets was a casual sort of intermission with snacks and hot cider and chatting and nanaimo bars, and the whole thing was just fabulously warm and friendly and full of palpable delight.
I have two signed CDs, a warm giddy glow, and the satisfaction of not having splutteringly fangirled all over Peter Mulvey even though I really really wanted to.
Good concert, monkeys. Super good.
