Music Review: Brett Dennen at Antones, November 12, 2007
by Adan Lerma on 11/19/2007 9:14:52 PM
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Brett Dennen
at Antones
November 12, 2007
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Art Beyond the Bubble! TM
"the act of giving your thoughts to one you love can be as important as the thought itself"
INTRO
Ok, I’ll admit it. I already had my opening sentence marked out before I even saw the show Monday night: “Will the third time still be the charm?”
We went to find out.
There was a high bar plus numerous unusual obstacles poised to derail the evening. One, since I sometimes paint to music, and Brett Dennen’s music is one of my mainstays, I had more than the usual music fan’s emotional tags draped all over his sound. Second, being early stage seniors, my wife Sheila and I don’t frequently, actually hardly ever, go out during a weekday to an evening performance, of anything :-)
Thirdly, and here’s where my opening question came in, we had only been to Antones a few times before, to their 32nd Anniversary show with Marcia Ball leading the celebrating, and recently, to Alejandro Escovedo’s stomping wailing tightly sprung performance.
Typically, one is hopeful the third try at something will yield the best if not at least better results. I was apprehensive I would hit an inverse reaction; but I won’t keep you in unnecessary suspense. It worked out right, just differently, as life is often smilingly want to do with expectations.
ARRIVAL
Near the time my wife and I would normally be easing into the evening and preparing for sleep, we freshened up, checked our pockets, comforted the cat, and headed out.
Traffic, even for a Veteran’s Day holiday Monday evening, was light. We crossed the Colorado River, called Lady Bird Lake near downtown (a series of dams upstream control the flow) and quickly sauntered the old Explorer down Lavaca St (Spanish for cow :-), and unexpectedly found a parking spot directly across the street from the side of Antones. The street and sidewalk beside the old blue’s club were unusually deserted. “Maybe there’ll be a few people there,” I absently thought rounding the corner onto 4th Street, nearly smushing ourselves into the large friendly crowd waiting outside the club’s entrance. Faster than the stock market whip-sawing profits to the brokers, the sudden thought, “Uh oh, there might not be seats left!” swept my mind into clarity.
The dark high ceilinged venue was already nearly two thirds full, but our seats up in VIP, our gentle waitress Abby, and my one shot of Bulleit whiskey for the night were waiting.
OPENING ACTS
Patrick Park and Marie Digby provided the lead up to Brett Dennen in almost perfect step-up. Patrick, tumbly as Colorado boulders tossed down onto the hillsides, opened solo, while Marie, interestingly pronounced Mar-ee-ay, had her “can’t do it without him” guitarist. Brett would then later build and open with two guitars and a drummer.
For most his set, Patrick held the growing standing-room-only crowd quietly within his lyrics and folk-singer-like style. I don’t know how accurate a description of his music that is, but his genuiness kept bringing me image reminders of being in large rambley houses in Montrose in the 60’s and 70’s with gaggles of equally gangly teens and early 20 somethings listening to heart felt lyrics like his. Patrick did play a couple more up-beat tunes near the end, stirring the crowd for a taste of more, so when Marie arrived, slender, black leggened, with long dark hair and pale arms bared, the still swelling crowd was ready for more.
More personable, talky with the folks standing before her, Marie liked to tell stories about the songs she’d sing. Pet dog, friends. Relationships. Soon she had the large swelling crowd even quieter, listening to her lyrics, straining to see the feelings fleeting on her face. I’d tip toed down the back stairs and joined the floor crowd, working my way closer and closer as someone left or jostled giving me a slot I could fill. Comfortable in her empire-like cut dress, black on top, a soft-print cloth of black florals on the white below, her face spoke of true feelings and thoughts held close but shared. Her companion guitarist stood slightly away, quiet as the people listening intently to Marie, playing with supporting understatement til the final song.
Knowing her session time was at an end, she asked the dark seeing void if she could have time for “one more,” her pleading playfully apparent, hopeful. There was another song she had to sing. Her guitarist left the stage, she glanced about with her smile, sat at the keyboards, and told another short story. She had a boyfriend, "once," she said, a guy she really cared for, but who'd only pay her attention when she sang, “sad, tragic,” she said; and the listeners listened, watched, and felt. Heart felt.
Would the third time still charm? So far it had.
BRETT DENNEN
I’d barely made it back upstairs, my wife patiently waiting, half my Bulleit whiskey I’d nursed almost as patient, when Brett and his band began assembling onstage.
A surge of new people had appeared again in the doorway to the street, easily seen across the darkened venue hall from our seats, like a dimension-break portal from the cool outside air to a world within Antones.
Taller than I’d expected, barefoot, torn jeans, much longer haired than the pictures I’d seen, Brett’s voice was fully faithfully his. Opening with, "Darlin' Do Not Fear", there was instant recognition. The crowd lifted its collective self up and forward like a gentle tide had swept them toward the tall stout red-haired singer singing his sweet words.
There’s no mistaking authenticity. Not the kind that says, “yes, i am so and so,” but rather, says, “yes, i am.” A singer, a person, an individual. My wife beside me immediately said he reminded her of Brian Adams. Not in exact sound, but as having his own recognizable voice. The third charm was chiming.
Backed by two guitars and an incredibly smart snappy drummer, Brett crooned his voice to their strong steady beat. The bassist, sporting high-top tight-thin boots, reminding me once more of another era, bounced his body easily to the beat, while the lead guitarist pulled high single accent hits.
The drummer, funky hat staying put, drove a clean very up-beat driving ridgey ripple through the whole group, the lead guitarist at times turning to him, playing straight to his driving rhythm.
Still, it was Brett that remained the draw. Faithful to most the songs from his album’s sound on “So Much More,” he effortlessly slowed a few renditions, adding new nuances, the lead guitarist switching to keyboards, adding surf-like Hawaiian overtures, or the drummer lending up-beat reggae-like beats to the tempo.
But for me, his full faithfulness to his inner voice came through most strongly on “The One Who Loves You the Most” (sung as I like it: "I'm the One, Who Loves You the Most") and “Because You Are a Woman.” He spoke his heart into these two, the lead guitarist placing soft single high-pitch notes into the lone listening air, solitary sound-stars shooting across the ache inside Brett's voice.
We knew we'd been charmed.
Needing to work the next day, yet staying up to midnight at our gentle age, Sheila and I knew we were at our limit. Our earlier one lone drink each now long gone, we arranged our now empty bottles of cold water for Abby, and with a glance at the standing-room only throng of much younger more awake music lovers behind us, we motioned “first come first served” toward our table, and Sheila and I worked our way down to the arena floor to hear a last song before heading home.
The people pressed lightly together in the tall ceilinged hall of Antones. Some swayed rhythmically gently; others still pressed forward slightly, intent on both seeing and hearing; lovers whispered, smilingly back and forth. Here and there someone danced in place, in the space they'd claimed.
My third time charm was indeed a charm, the charm of once again hearing such rare authenticity. I plan to borrow freely from it when painting again to his music.
Postscript
I rarely like to add an after-the-fact note on a review of a real time event, but I just had to add, that since hearing Brett Dennen live, his album music strikes me more strongly more suitably is more conducive when painting than I'd even anticipated that late night.
thanks ya'll,
adan
www.adanlerma.com
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