“Him’s” a Blast! “She’s” not-so Electric
In the throes of a a surprisingly low-key – but still refreshingly rascally – NYU student audience, I settled into my seat at the Skirball Center for the Performing Arts’ presentation of musical act SHE AND HIM. Passingly familiar with the work of M. Ward from an appearance he had done at the Center a year or two prior, I was naturally more familiar with the his accomplice for the evening – Zooey Deschanel.
I have to admit to a severe, cinematic crush on the young starlet that began during the opening minutes of Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous.” Staring into the camera with her heartbreakingly lovely, disproportionately large eyes, her character utters what may be my favorite line from the film to her precocious but crushingly square younger brother: “Someday, you’ll be cool.” A moment later, she whispers in his ear, “Look under your bed. It’ll set you free.” A moment after that, she leaps into her boyfriend’s car and they drive away, howling with youth and anticipation for the open road as Simon and Garfunkle’s “America” sweeps over the soundtrack. The brother immediately retreats to his bedroom and finds, tucked discreetly under the bed, a treasure trove of classic, late 1960’s and early 1970’s rock LP’s stacked in a box. The brother thumbs naively through the stack and the camera graces us with shots of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” and Bob Dylan’s “Blonde On Blonde” – just to name two of the dozen or more album covers featured in the affectionate montage.
How could I resist such a woman’s seductive charms – the beautiful vagabond that would sweep in with her transcendental music of possibility like some kind of Pied Piper carrying Tommy’s “The Who” in place of a fife and shift the very ground beneath a young man’s feet and then sweep away down the highway – how could I possibly resist that?
So, there was obvious disappointment Wednesday night when Ms. Deschanel took the stage with M. Ward and his backing band with the kind of unease I hadn’t glimpsed since a high school talent show I suffered through in ninth grade. Whether it was due to a reported illness the zeitgeist informed me she had been battling (they had already canceled a show two nights previously due to sickness) or the fact that she appeared to be stoned out of her mind, she stood lifeless on stage stage, singing prettily but oozing just enough life to assure me that she was – in fact – still alive. It was everything she could do to simply keep time with her obligatory tambourine. I do have to admit – I did have a momentary fantasy of her locked in a Celebrity Death-Match with the savagely vibrant Janis Joplin and being demolished by the the raspy-voiced singer (my date quipped that Janis would not only have beaten Zooey – she would have EATEN her.)
The spark of the evening came from M. Ward. His understated, wiry intensity and the nostalgic sound of his hollow-bodied electric guitar solidly struck a nerve in this listener’s ear. With sweetly melodic touches of something resembling a nouveau rockabilly and bluesy Americana, he brought a much needed bravado to the Skirball stage.
By the evening’s end, I was less compelled to go track down SHE AND HIM’s latest effort and more intrigued to listen to M. Ward’s last album – “Transistor Radio.”
It’s simple. It’s a simple little album in the manner that McCartney’s debut album was. It is more produced and polished than “McCartney” was. “Radio’s” subtle, sonic experimentation and digital clarity sounds more sophisticated than McCartney’s home-made project – recorded on his own four-track machine – but M. Ward seems less interested in complex songwriting and more attuned to sound, aura, and tone.
Ward’s vocals on “Four Hours In Washington” are the highlight of the album. With a quiet howl, he haunts the listener with his cryptic, nocturnal tale – sounding like a ghost from a bayou with his smoke-tinged, agile voice. “Paul’s Song” is another gem, channeling the era of Hank Williams Sr with the melancholy tale of a loner underscored by the twang of a pedal steel guitar.
Its simplicity ultimately becomes its greatest asset. With his country flavor juxtaposed to his urbane sensibilities, M. Ward comes off sounding as if he was Glen Campbell’s younger, more maudlin brother. And, in this listener’s modest opinion, that’s good family.
It’s an album that has a nostalgic ease to it – as if it could easily have been found in that same box of LP’s – tucked in safely next to Joni Mitchell.
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