By around 5pm on an oppressive November Wednesday, I wasn’t the only one that was having a crappy week. It seemed everyone was suffering in some manner of ways - with work, health, the weather, loved ones, hated ones, the car, the kids, the parents… just one of those weeks. I was beginning to wish it was over, so I headed out with the hope it wouldn’t upset my killer headache. It’s in this situation you’d have no qualms paying someone thirty bucks to make you feel a whole lot better without hang-ups or hangovers and fortunately, the Rosemount Hotel had that exact tonic. One of the more ‘softer, quieter’ gigs in a while, both in these parts and on this forum, Ohio’s Jason Molina of Magnolia Electric Co (formerly Songs: Ohio) was here to wind up his solo tour, preceded by a couple of equally and suitably ‘softer, quieter’ supports. If only Wednesday night remedies such as this were on tap.
Felicity Groom was at least one person who was going well early. Although she played the first half of the night’s opening set to just a handful of studious punters, for each song and each new piece of audience that fell into place, she bevelled the Rosie’s attention span more and more in her own direction. All it took was her honey soaked voice and pleasant stage demeanour to woo them. I’m hearing hypothetical moments of PJ Harvey, half baked in an alt-country hammock or Chan Marshall, but that’s probably just me. By the time she’d closed it out after a few sunny duets with Andrew Ryan (Adam Said Galore, Fall Electric) the vibes were being met as we begun to forget our woes. Nice! Another of Western A’s hidden gems, Felicity is starting to happen.
With his band’s new album making waves and some juicy tour dates lined up, Snowman guitarist/vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Joe McKee, the youthful, rock-groomed Perth-grown Englishman took to the stage on a semi-experimental solo journey. A darker, rougher cut away from the first support act, McKee was also having one of those weeks. ”My car broke down today,” he stated, before mumbling something else about a graveyard. But it wasn’t going to impede his ability to wail his sombre, disjointed late night session discoveries. With the reverberation high and the tempo low, this was an ethereal road trip; no doubt pleasing his immediate fans the most while also setting the scene atop a rusty knife’s edge for the impending headliner. It took a little radiance out of the overall bigger picture, but considering who the headliner was, maybe that was the plan.
I once heard someone say they believe when a person dies, their spirit is released and eventually forms a cloud floating somewhere across the atmosphere. I would suggest the process has more to do with Mother Nature, or even water vapour, but if the weather truly was a spiritual affair the prospective ghost cloud of Jason Molina would be the type you don’t see enough of. Quite small but packed to maximum darkness full of rain, although with an intense outer lining that illuminates it from the others.
The ultimate antithesis of a rock star, Molina is the deeply focused and highly prolific artist’s artist, with the constant creation of fresh new work being his lifeblood, his daily regime, a business driven out of necessity, the love for it and the learning it provides more than for potential monetary gain. Molina, whose initial presence still bears more of he as humble former museum worker than of humbly successful musician, was about to put the icing on his Australia and New Zealand solo tour. Dipping toes in these waters to test the viability of bringing his band on tour in future, the results sounded promising. Playing just a few hours before returning to the USA he was surprisingly upbeat and even whimsical, which served as some much needed light on the shade that was the bulk of this evening’s tunes, while also being very kindly gracious in respect to the overall tour, hinting that a full band return would seem a valid outcome. Naturally the polite, petite but appreciative crowd in attendance liked the sound of that as well. If it eventuates, one of Perth’s venues such as the Rosemount, the Hyde Park Hotel or the Beck’s Verandah could be hosting arguably the best gig of its type since those of Bonnie Prince Billy (Will Oldham) and also The Shins.
This particular occasion was more like a low fidelity music slideshow. Not in the style of boring holiday snaps taken outside major tourist attractions, but more like the soundtrack to a whole bunch of weird and fucked-up shit that you would only share amongst friends, but which is also quite tragic and beautiful. So precise and subtle is Molina in his live solo mode that, regardless of how dark its content, each song is virtually gift wrapped and hand delivered with wine and chocolates. Molina will tell you he’s not a performer, but then with nothing but an acoustic guitar and a microphone, he’ll belt out as good a rendition of any of his already poignant tunes one after the other, along with double the heartbreak.
Of course there were also times in the set when the songs were notably bare as bones, particularly in regards to some of the MEC material from What Comes After the Blues… and to a lesser extent Fading Trails, this also acknowledged by Molina as he went about gleefully mock-announcing each of his absent band members. Although the full MEC experience was being intermittently and even fondly missed by some, it was a testament to Molina to be able to deliver a show that went in the right way of only two possible directions, consequently ending the tour all smiles and the audience happily replenished.
A delicately intimate entrée to what now lays on the horizon, the hope of a full MEC tour just waiting to hatch.
Head to the gallery to view photos from the gig.
