Review: Lambchop, St George’s – ‘Heartbreakingly lonely’

For the last 30-odd years Kurt Wagner has acted as the central creative core of alt-Americana heroes Lambchop.

Over that time their wonderfully eclectic albums have taken in country, jazz, post-rock, soul and almost everything in-between. Their live shows have often featured strings, an orchestra and a grand, lush sweep that fit Wagner’s intricate, carefully constructed tales of American life perfectly.

Tonight, one of only two gigs on this very short UK tour, Lambchop is just Wagner and Andrew Broder on piano. It turns out that ditching the band is a brave decision.

Picture this. A stage in almost total darkness. Two spotlights illuminating a microphone and a piano. Two men wander on stage, one of whom has his hands jammed into his trouser pockets (where they remain for almost the entire night), choosing to lurk out of the reach of his spotlight.

The piano player, undoubtedly excellent, embarks on a jazzy run that he doesn’t then cease for almost half an hour. Neither man speaks. Neither says hello. Both take this very seriously.

Broder creates a suite – veering from jazz to lounge to contemporary classical – over which Wagner sings. Each song runs into the last, each sounds relatively similar to the one just gone. His Song is Sung, taken from the most recent Lambchop album The Bible, melds into So There which melds into Dylan at The Mousetrap.

Each is glanced at, like photos turned sepia with age, none are really focused on.

Wagner becomes an aging black and white movie star, with tales to tell but no real voice left with which to tell them. He half sings, half speaks the lyrics, his deep throaty mumble sometimes lost against the rolling piano, struggling when the notes get too high.

You might describe this as delicate, as intimate, as hushed. You might also wonder why he’s trying to do this without the safety net of a band around him.

As the songs roll into one another, something strange happens. There is, you see, no chance for the audience to respond, to applaud. As a consequence, the fellowship that you so often get at a gig is missing.

This becomes a solitary affair: it’s all a bit heartbreakingly lonely. Even the self-referencing, smirking cover of Sun June’s Listening (to Lambchop by myself again) fails to raise a smile. It just, somehow, makes the loneliness worse.

Fragments of songs drift by. The New Cobweb Summer should be beautiful; instead it feels as though Wagner has broken the spine on an ancient book and allowed a breeze to carry the pages away. Things flutter just out of reach, never really settling.

 

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Even two absolute classics from the Lambchop repertoire fail to land. The Man Who Loved Beer, from the brilliant 1996 album How I Quit Smoking, desperately misses the pedal steel and violin of the original; the vulnerability is entirely overtaken by a struggle.

Up With People is, probably, the best known of Lambchop’s songs, being a downtempo, Balearic slice of euphoria thanks to an iconic Zero 7 mix from back in the day. Tonight, the chorus is always, tantalisingly, about two feet away.

As if to highlight the contrast between what-could-be and what-is-now, Broder finishes the sing by crashing into some thundercloud piano. Those sunny skies are chased right away.

It’s probably safe to assume that if someone leaves a show that is only 75 minutes long saying “I was just desperate for that to finish”, things haven’t been an unqualified success. Sadly, that was just the reaction from at least one audience member as they strolled down the St George’s steps at a quarter to ten. Others looked equally disgruntled and baffled.

Maybe Wagner needs to chalk this one up to experience. And get the orchestra back in.

Main photo: St George’s Bristol

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