Nova Ahead 2
Nova Ahead / Issue 2
I did something to my stupid leg; one of those ambiguous injuries that made no impression when it actually happened. Upon waking the next morning however, I was well aware that something was amiss. I’m not sure if it’s just a thing with men, or if I’m a special breed of human, that can move through their days in relative good health, and the moment something is the slightest bit off, I become a giant baby. It took a couple of days to even decide to start doing something about it, and now here I am writing with an icepack on my hamstring. Did you miss me? After thirty-two weeks, we decided to start calibrating things to be less of a listening party and more of a contextual gift, shedding light on upcoming events and trying to make sense of things. I guess I needed a week off, not that anyone can take a week off from this weirdo dystopian merry-go-round we’re all on; I’ll try to limit my references to you know who as well.
Hess just rolled through town last week, and it was a generally mellow affair. Past run-ins with him have often included the band with which he cut his teeth, Mail the Horse. They would routinely tumble through cities in a cloud of anticipatory energy, hungry to taste and experience whatever that borough had to offer; jumping the cliffs, trying the local cuisine, drinking wine by the case. They can roll deep too, in some cases completely overwhelming their host like a bashful swarm of piranha; the friends made the night before, lost down river by morning, set free with a wild story and an old roach, only to be found on laundry day, either before the washer as a close call and prize, or after the dryer, as a charred smear. Their effervescence, as a band, is contagious enough to bring a teetotaler to a wobbly caterwaul, realizing mid-karaoke that the night has perhaps gotten away from them. This particular evening with Michael Hesslein was heartfelt and lovely, as he played his new solo album, Lamplight Motel, in its entirety, regaling the audience with backstory and insights as he moved through the songs. There is a sadness in the music, packed with emotion and loss, but I think that is what gives it an edge; a winking knowledge that sadness is both the water that extinguishes as well as the nourishment things need to grow.
Coming up next week we have Brown Bones, aka Andrew Moon Bain, coming to town. Jeff hipped me to this fellow, and I was instantly sold on the tunes. When I did a little more digging, I found that he has led a number of lives, from Seattle to Providence to Jamaica, producing records for Snoop Dog, Major Lazer, Midnite, and many other roots reggae artists. When you hear his current incarnation of rootsy folk music, it’s so unassuming, stripped down in a way that only a serious craftsperson could manage. The song is the engine, the chassis, the wheels, and the seat, and each time it is played, you conjure the body, but you never know what it looks like; that is for other people - listeners. Every set of ears is a singular lens that will capture the song, and there is a trust that exists in the singer, to let all of these various lenses drive off in the car the song becomes to them. That is how I imagine Brown Bones, whittling a fleet of vehicles, hoping for each one to be finished properly as it is beheld and reflected upon.
Tiffy was a muppet from Sesamstrasse, the German version of Sesame Street, and she seems pretty cool, but not quite as cool as TIFFY, the soft punk project, built, steered, and lived in by Tiffany Sammy. I’m not sure where “soft punk” comes from, if it’s from Sammy, or Victoria Wasylak, editor of Boston music site Vanyaland, but I love it. I grew up on soft rock radio in the back of my parents’ car, driving back and forth to Lowell; I know all the words to “Arthur’s Theme”. Now, TIFFY doesn’t sound like Christopher Cross really, but I do think there is something analogous about the space which both provide, knitting a room of vibe and luster around the songs. It’s not easy listening in the same way as that 1980s FM sound, but it does make it easier in that there is no pressure and zero pretense, which in punk can be a rare thing.
Alright, to paraphrase Inigo Montoya, let me sum up. You may have missed Hess at the space, but we’re putting up a video of the whole set; dream with us of a time where the whole room will be full of swaying humans, bouncing and nodding to the expressions of song and rhythm! Since we do have the space and a tight procedure for safely doing these intimate shows, Brown Bones will be here Friday December 4th; mask up and join us. If you aren’t there yet, we’ve got you covered with a TIFFY live stream concert Monday December 7th. Take a deep breath before this winter starts to spread out; we’ll be here for you all the way through it.
Eric Gagne
Nova Arts