The first half of Shelby Lynne’s performance at the Concert Hall on Central Park West and 64th street last night was her recently released album I Can’t Imagine, plus a song off her sixth album I Am Shelby Lynne, the second half of the performance, after five minutes in complete darkness because the management insisted she took an intermission when she didn’t really want to take one, was the remainder of I Am Shelby Lynne.
It is a strange way to put together a setlist, though, with a minimum of fuss, it sure does the job and if I learnt anything last night, watching the Calibama beatific beatnik weirdo confessional singer songwriter, it is Shelby does things her own way.
Alright with me, and I wouldn’t even be there at all except I’d had dinner with my nephew nearby and the gig had been on my radar. When I Can’t Imagine was released last week, I liked it didn’t love it, but then I read Rob Smith’s review in Popdose (here) and figured, hey maybe I was missing something: “(I Can’t Imagine has) slinky, sweaty feel that can only be coaxed out of throats and fingers where the air is warm and heavy with humidity and the scent of something swampy nearby. While the feel is Southern, the songs cannot be tied to any one location; it’s universal twangy soul, sung by a woman who may well be a national treasure” Rob wrote.
Sounds good, right? Makes you want to hear more.
So I did hear more, and still, something was putting me off and so I went to the Concert Hall and while I admired her tremendously, and since I am not a fan I didn’t mind the set construction at all, I figured out what was bothering me. There is something damaged about the woman and it made me nervous.Shelby Lynne is so damn affected it ruins it for you.
Even so, she is a special singer songwriter (so is her sister Allison Moorer –who I prefer). I’d mentioned Ricki Lee Jones once, and I’ll keep to that, but not because of her singing voice exactly, but of her style of sounding like, she has a blurring style of speech. Lynne seemed completely incapable of enunciating and the result was her voice played like an instrument, the words flowed on top of her songs and meaning as such was much less important than feel, and it felt like a beatnik on a country sound bake off; like another, major instrument to be played, not to explain but to express musically. And speaking of expressing musically, with an excellent backing band, four guitars including her own and a stand-up bass, one of the guitarists, Ben Peeler, is as good as anyone I’ve heard on pedal steel, and everyone getting off on its sweet home, can jam out with the best of them. Shelby is a real band leader, and it is like she is conducting an orchestra, switching lead instruments on musical whim, peering in, elsewhere, a little lost, then so on top, she stops herself midflight
The songs? Some of these songs are flat out showstoppers: “Where I’m From” and “Miss You Sissy” from the bottom end, a show stopping “Son Of A Gun” and a personal best “Sold The Devil (Sunshine)” from the top. Some of the new album was co-written with the ubiquitous Ron Sexsmith, and the worst of it was great.
Also, when Shelby wants to knock em out, she knocks em out, she is all confidence and tempo, all slow fuse to the explosion. The lyric a confessional, but good confessional, Grammy Winning confessional, and she moves well inside her Americana genre; she can deliver the change when it is needed.
All good: but she is too strange, too flighty, she is too bizarre to be fun to watch, opening her arm wide and basking in the spotlight like it was the sun, there is strangeness in her performance that won’t let you give into it. It’s a little similar to the way you can’t quite enjoy Brian Wilson: she isn’t playing with a full deck. You’re not sure if she is on drugs, but if she is on drugs, it is harder than weed. Plus, and this isn’t her fault at all, but you can’t help but project her backstory on her. You need her to be more normal not less.
Shelby’s performance is wonderful and yet so eccentric it is difficult to enjoy her, even her conversation to the audience leaves so much to be desired. Does Shelby think we think she likes New York because she saw Waylon Jennings at the Bottom Line in 1989 and shops at Barneys. That is what nyc means to her? Sure sounds like a slapdown to me.
Yet, the sound itself, Ken Shane called her a soul singer, and I thought he meant foul singer but maybe he did mean simply a singer from the soul. In a consistent, powerful soulfulness on song after song, two great albums, she poured her heart into every song but she was so out there, it wasn’t entirely a pleasure.
It sure wasn’t boring.
As for Rob Smith, that cat is a good writer.
Grade: B+
Everyone is entitled to their opinion. It’s good you can see her talent.
As a person who has loved Shelby since buying Love, Shelby many years ago, I’ve seen her numerous times, and have loved every moment. That strange behavior comes when music fills the soul and is released. It’s the mark of a true honest artist.
She doesn’t plan her moves or what she’s going to say, it’s straight from the soul and the moment. It’s what a live performance should be. It’s exactly why she was run out of Nashville.
As for the set list, many artists have been doing this for years. Lucinda Williams did a series of shows at Town Hall where each night she’d perform one of her albums in it’s entirety, Springsteen did the same thing at The Meadowlands (or whatever it’s called now) a few years ago. Roger Waters did Darkness. Lou Reed Berlin, Iggy Pop Raw Power… It’s not strange it’s actually the norm nowadays.
So you think she’s insulting NY because she’s mentioning times that meant something to her? For people who love music going to concerts mean something. Going to concerts of your heroes makes it that more special. So, yeah, when she brings up Waylon and the Bottom Line it means something special. But, you see it as a slap down.
I’m pretty sure they said the lights needed to be turned off for five minutes, probably because they were over heating.
I can completely see you finding Shelby strange when you prefer her sister, she’s mainstream. Shelby is an artist’s artist.
Thought she was drunk and I was sat in the third row…the 5 minute lights out did not help either. What the reviewer said about a vocal blur was spot on.
John, FYI she has been sober for many years so I highly doubt your observation. Also, the 5 minutes lights out was due to the Union at the venue. Such negativity all around this messed up review.
Perhaps for those people so afraid of raw emotion, a Wiggles performance would be more appropriate.