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The Troubadour - Thu Jul 24
The first thing that greets me upon entering the toasty confines of The Troubadour tonight is the ever-lugubrious face of the venue’s doorman. Why mention this? Well, if you’re going to find serious young men anywhere in Brisbane tonight, you’ll probably find them here, so the experience may as well start at the door.
Andrew Morris isn’t dour however, already threatening to derail my thesis with his genial folk-pop and mildly alt.country-tinged singer-songwriterisms. The erstwhile Palladium frontman and Bernard Fanning collaborator is a late entry to the bill tonight, and enjoys a steadily growing audience as his set progresses. His pleasant yet heartfelt songs provide an appropriate counterpoint to the intensity expected of the main act tonight, although his failure to engage the attention of the drinkers at the back of the venue means a rising wave a chatter designed to annoy those foolish enough to stand there (ie, me).
After a slightly longer than expected break, Mark Kozelek seats himself comfortably on The Troubadour’s stage, accompanied by one time Red House Painters bandmate Phil Carney on second guitar. Immediately it’s clear this will be slightly different from Kozelek’s last visit here in true-solo mode, as the addition of another set of finger-picked acoustic tones is like knitting a jumper from 8-ply wool instead of 4-ply – it’s just warmer.
Opening with ‘Painters track Michigan, Kozelek’s sonorous and melancholic voice is drenched in reverb (at Kozelek’s specific request I’m later told by his sound tech), contrasting with the crystal clear guitar notes – it gives the sense of listening to a man singing at the end of a deep tunnel while two folk guitarists play along directly in front of your nose. This is Kozelek’s schtick, methinks – distancing himself from the audience while still being forced to sit in front of them.
Not that it’s all misanthropic, it seems. “Are you gonna play Mistress tonight?” asks a hopeful Red House Painters fan in the audience. “If you had a female voice, I might,” quips Kozelek, which in comparison to the plaintive world of his songs is the equivalent of a belly laugh-inducing jest.
The set progresses at a gentle pace, tracks like Lucky Man, Heron Blue and Tonight In Bilbao from Sun Kil Moon’s latest, April, alternating with older songs from the SKM catalogue and Kozelek’s solo work. A brief break caused by toilet-bound punters interrupting Kozelek’s concentration is dealt with semi-jokingly by the singer – “Weren’t you meant to go before the show started?” – but one has suspicions his irritation is at least partially genuine. There’s that odd relationship with the audience again.
By the time we reach Kozelek’s solo encore, Carney getting a rest, almost all those standing at the start of the gig are now sitting. Somewhat adorably, one young couple are even asleep. And despite some cricket chirping from here-on-a-freebie media types at the bar, the final three songs – April’s Moorestown, the simple ‘Painters classic Summer Dress and the most delicate cover possible of AC/DC’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Singer – cap a night of sombre romanticism that leaves fans warmly content and casual listeners either nonplussed or lethargic. Those with short attention spans have long since left, as Kozelek has developed into an artist willing to let his songs breathe (and breathe, and breathe), and you’re either with him or against him on that. Not that he’s probably concerned either way, just as long as you don’t annoy him.
TOPHER HEALY
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