Last Night: M. Ward at Palace of Fine Arts
Categories: Last Night
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| Annie Musselman |
M. Ward
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Palace of Fine Arts
Better than: Having to stand the whole time. I was tired. I liked the seats.
I think people like M. Ward because he seems like an ordinary guy doing semi-extraordinary things. Personally, I'm not fan enough to tag his work with descriptors like that, but I'm in the minority it seems. New York magazine, for example, recently gushed that the Portland, Or. songwriter is "the embodiment of everything cool and hopeful about indie rock," calling his new album Hold Time "thoroughly affecting."
So what better place to be thoroughly affected than the intimate Palace of Fine Arts, a place where you're so close to the stage you can see the band is drinking water instead of alchohol and the setting is so quiet you can practically hear your neighbors' colds traveling through the air towards your sinuses (I heard those sniffles; now I feel that sickness).
The library vibe wasn't lost in the headliner, who only a couple songs in remarked with a grin, "This place gets really quiet." Which of course fans took as a cue to shot out "We love you M. Ward" and some other professions of Wardian passion before a gentle round of sushing enveloped the crowd in polite silence once again. (Silence broken only to clap for or to a song). Thursday, March 5, 2009
Palace of Fine Arts
Better than: Having to stand the whole time. I was tired. I liked the seats.
I think people like M. Ward because he seems like an ordinary guy doing semi-extraordinary things. Personally, I'm not fan enough to tag his work with descriptors like that, but I'm in the minority it seems. New York magazine, for example, recently gushed that the Portland, Or. songwriter is "the embodiment of everything cool and hopeful about indie rock," calling his new album Hold Time "thoroughly affecting."
So what better place to be thoroughly affected than the intimate Palace of Fine Arts, a place where you're so close to the stage you can see the band is drinking water instead of alchohol and the setting is so quiet you can practically hear your neighbors' colds traveling through the air towards your sinuses (I heard those sniffles; now I feel that sickness).
So there the audience sat like movie patrons at a matinee as a film of a window screen (with birds, lightning bugs, and butterflies fluttering by it) projected above the band. Ward came through town with a full crew, including a keyboardist who doubled on the piano. But he used the backing musicians to bookend the show, drawing the fans closer by removing members in the middle of his show. He stripped his set down first to just himself and one other acoustic guitarist before taking the stage alone...and then inviting the other members back later.
The sound in the room was so crisp it was almost like Ward was singing next to your ear, emoting about being a homebody or staying true to a lover. His words were delivered with the same sense of earnestness that he shows on his records, the same loner dude who happens to be skilled at writing a folksy indie ditty before you in all his humble demeanor.
Ward's closing tracks included a cover of the Chuck Berry classic "Roll Over Beethoven," and then he slipped away before the rest of the band with a little wave. His keyboardist seemed more comfortable with the accolades, stopping to give a bow to show his appreciation. But Ward left the spotlight the same way he's stumbled into it...with little fanfare but much applause.
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