Laura and I have been to our fair share of live musical performances, ranging from sparse and enigmatic to swarming and raucous. Wednesday night was to be an altogether different experience however.
the entrance to Le Poisson Rouge
Searching some time now for a night worth our while, knowing that we don't get out on the town much nowadays, having baby and being lazy and all, it would take a lot for us to gather up our gear and hike that mountain. I instantly fell in love with the exerted vulnerability of the new Lost In The Trees album, sadness never sounded so amazing. I looked into it and found a little bar on Bleeker called Le Poisson Rouge was hosting them in just a couple weeks. New York City it was.
We got there early, but later than normal for us. A few beers at the bar, and quick scan of the restroom sitch (they got thrones!) and it seemed like the show was ready to begin. We headed up to a standing table where we met Brent. Let me tell you a little bit about Brent, because he did. Brent is 46 and from Vancouver. Today he went to the Mets game and bought a cap worn by Lucas Duda and a genuine baseball leather moneyclip which he took out and showed to us. He works for a hospitality company that handles the Olympics and he is excited about going over to London soon because it is in London where he met his future wife, Marjorie. He knows this because when someone's imperfections are what is attractive about them, then it's love, says Brent. This was all very nice conversation before, between and after show openers Poor Moon, who were also very nice. They had a great song with a killer whistle duet. Brent did not.
Before the headliners took to the stage I hit the thrones and grabbed a couple fresh drinks where I met Nick & Chris, a coupla dudes probably from Brooklyn or Jersey City who complimented me on my beard after which we bonded over love of Indian curry, Lake Wallenpaupack, and Atlanta's seminal venue of the early 2000s, the Drunken Unicorn. That ended after they ordered two Magic Hats and I ordered The Dietrich (rye whiskey, cherry liquer, Dubonnet Blanc, orange bitters and twist) and a Stella Artois. When I got back to our table Laura had filled Brent in on our entire life including but not limited to our sleeping habits, the address and combination of our storage unit, and our social security numbers. This was fine. Brent seemed nice. Anyone who claims to be in love with a girl named Marjorie can't be all that untrustworthy.
Then Lost In The Trees took the stage.
They took the stage to the Postal Service, which must've made me grimace because Laura asked if I was okay. That wasn't the vibe I was working on is all, but the good news is it was all uphill from there. Lost In The Trees was raw. Acoustic guitar, cello, drums, tuba, synthesizer, violin, bass, french horn, piano, raw. And it sounded great. A half a song in and the balance was struck in the booth and there was no looking back. The albums' operatic vocals and amazing strings that I could've sworn was electronics came shimmering thru and each song got tighter and grander than the last. The quiet moments you could hear a pin drop. The robust moments hung in the air and repeatedly dropped on your chest and ears. The crowd was extremely grateful, for a bunch of NYU students and SoHo yuppies, and the band was extremely humbled by it all, seemingly thrown to the wolves only to be coddled and adored instead of eaten alive. This lovefest went on throughout the set which only seemed to strengthen the band's tenacity, really putting it together and throwing it down for us on the final laps.
Highlights were the expected singles, Red & Golden Eyelids (before which lead singer Ari Picker admitted cautiously, "this song scares the hell out of me"). The rest of the new material was even more evocative live than on record, especially This Dead Bird Is Beautiful during which I may or may not have welled up (a lot), and older songs like Song For The Painter and a new killer rendition of Fireplace brought the house down and the arms up (and a boisterous soccer Dad-like "WOW!" from Brent). Knowing the inexplicably sad background of band leader Ari Picker, which seemed to be the overriding connection amongst the gawking crowd, made the night extremely heavy emotionally, knowing that was his motivation to build this awesome piece of music, knowing that was his mother on the cover of it all, hearing the shoutouts from the band members to their kids at home followed by vocals choking on teardrops, Lost In The Trees poured their hearts out to us and we put all our arms around them.
Good stuff.
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