Depressing can be intriguing
Damien Jurado is a singer/songwriter whom I’d resisted over the years, because really, does the world need one more sensitive folkie with an acoustic guitar? And this is coming from someone who’s often a sucker for sensitive folkies with acoustic guitars.
But I’ve discovered that Jurado sets himself apart with his words, which was evident Saturday night at the Milo Arts show. While his guitar playing and voice aren’t poor by any means—he sounds a little like a mash-up of Josh Ritter and Mark Kozelek—they’re fairly unremarkable without those profound, literate lyrics that often turn the lens outward instead of inward.
For a guy whose biggest strength is stories, the songs usually work best when pared down, so as not to distract from the words coming through. A few of the tracks on Jurado’s new album, Caught in the Trees, suffer from overdone production and a lack of intimacy (unlike 2006’s bare-bones And Now That I’m in Your Shadow), but Milo’s spartan stage setup served the songs well, as did the respectful crowd.
Jurado stayed mostly seated with his guitar, while his two bandmates added percussion, keys and guitar flourishes. Jenna Conrad’s vocal harmonies were a highlight throughout the night.
Jurado is a somber-looking fellow and a little schlubby (losing the crustache would do wonders), but he’s got a dry, self-deprecating sense of humor that I appreciated. He apologized for not coming to Ohio in a while, but appealed to the crowd by playing “Ohio,” a song he said he wrote on a codeine high from a toe operation. Jurado asked the crowd to lobby their politicians to make it the state song, “so I can be really rich.”
Not likely. “Ohio” is about a girl who’s taken away from her mother by bounty hunters. That’s his specialty, really—writing consistently depressing songs. Jurado seems to be very aware of this. “This is an upbeat number,” he announced before playing the sprightly “Gillian was a Horse,” but quickly added, “Not lyrically. Just the music.”
And “Coats of Ice,” which reminded me a lot of an Aimee Mann song, showed all that sullenness is starting to catch up with him. “How does it feel to be what you sing about?” he sang, adding in the chorus, “You look like you could use a rest/ You look like you’d be better dead.”
“Ohio” is about a girl who’s taken away from her mother by bounty hunters. That’s his specialty, really—writing consistently depressing songs.
But on one of the night’s final songs, “Best Dress,” he offered a possible remedy for the malaise. “Hey now, put your best dress on. . . We should just have a good time.” A good time, indeed.
I was sorely disappointed by Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson’s opening set, especially because I’ve been enjoying his self-titled debut, an album of bedraggled, folk-inspired songs that come across as both dark and rambunctious. But I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard an artist sound so utterly different, and worse, than on record.
For one, the mix was bad, though I don’t think a better one would have saved him. Robinson attempted a vocal tremolo that vacillated between loud, thin yelps and almost inaudible marbles-in-the-mouth mumbling. All the songs’ hooks and clever turns of phrase were lost, and his bandmates looked alternately embarrassed and confused as to what the four-named man was up to.
I think Robinson was going for a Pavement feel, or something like that. Whatever the reason, the young man needs some more touring underneath his belt.
Joel Oliphint
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