Spain

The formula was devised by veteran Howe Gelb some time ago, when he chose to steer music critics with an intriguing, pithy promotional line, “Giant Sand is a mood”, something anyone who knows and loves the Tucson band will find hard to dispute. Of course there's no shortage of musical creatures who have come to be identified with a particular state of mind or a specific emotion. Few, however, have matched the penetrating force of this correspondence, the almost synesthetic bond between notes and that feeling of aching melancholy, with the same intensity as Josh Haden's Spain, a small cult phenomenon in the nineties who returned to shine again in 2012 thanks to the encouraging comeback of “The Soul of Spain”.

Even though it's plural, for their now-legendary debut they used exactly that word, mood, taking care to give it a dense, unforgettable shape through their first nine songs, and an equally eloquent color, blue, an open nod to their musical universe of reference and, at the same time, a strategic touch in a mission statement that was as concise as it was evocative.

Finding them again seventeen years after “The Blue Moods of Spain”, finally live, was undeniably a surprise but, even more so, an experience. A kind of immersion and rapture in that unmistakable sound that the recording studio shaped like a long, unbroken spell, later replicated with never-too-drastic variations across the two following chapters, “She Haunts My Dreams” and “I Believe”, and finally revisited once more on their most recent effort, without losing an ounce of its original credibility or enchantment. Live too, the same formidable depth held true. A matter of style, clearly, and of talent. Mild-mannered Josh inherited his from the monumental figure of his father Charlie, an extraordinary jazz double bassist, approaching him with a disciple's devoted passion while still possessing his own particular sensibility, thus managing not to be crushed under the weight of a comparison that, inevitably, could have been merciless toward him. Spain has always been him, and he has always been Spain, so it's completely out of place to talk about a reunion in this case, just as his one solo record — from the years when he took creative leave from his main project — remains essentially a footnote.

The band seen in the hall of Maison Musique in Rivoli, for the final Italian date of a long European tour, bears no resemblance to the one that backed Haden during his albeit limited run of success, aside from the considerable caliber of all the musicians involved and their impressive chemistry: Matt Mayhall on drums, the guitars of Daniel Brummel and a very young Dylan McKenzie, joined by Randy Kirk on keyboards and piano, alongside Josh's own ever-melodic bass. The five took the stage after a worthy opening set from his friend Fabrizio Cammarata, personally chosen by Haden for all the recent European dates.

No eccentric showmanship whatsoever — quite the opposite, a sobriety so radical it left one genuinely struck. Josh above all, with the mild air of a maths professor and eyes invariably closed, as if not to loosen his grip on a truly remarkable concentration. Very few words from him, beyond those already terse yet incredibly rich and expressive songs: mostly thanks to his Palermo-born colleague or generic praise for Italy's beauty, aside from a couple of brief promotional asides seasoned with delightful humor, as when he foretold “magical happenings” for the lucky ones who chose to buy and wear a band T-shirt.

For the rest, as noted, Spain spoke, as they rightly should, exclusively through music. Strongly and clearly, limpid, without hesitation. Just a handful of gems from their catalog, with a generous (and obvious) selection from their debut record and an almost inevitable opener with one of their most classic titles, the one that back in the day ended up on the soundtrack of Wim Wenders' “The End of Violence” — no small feat. Everything went exactly as expected: slow, precise, extremely faithful to the studio versions. Described in these terms it might sound like a sentence, a heavy-handed performance, or even, who knows, one lacking in charm, but the truth is exactly the opposite.

The sound could not have been warmer or more pulsing, the words struck the heart more movingly than ever, and adherence to the tenets of slowcore — generally met with skepticism by an artist much more closely tied to other labels — seemed total. The concert was little more than that: an extraordinary exorcism. A hypnosis that anyone who has deeply loved this L.A. band's records knows all too well.

So there it was again, intact, with an unlimited power of fascination (and addiction) across the show's ninety-plus minutes. Old songs and less-old songs weaving together a discourse of remarkable stylistic and emotional coherence, an even pace with no disparity whatsoever between jazzy languor, blues stretched out with genius (“Dreaming of Love”), country-folk of rare elegance (“Without a Sound”), and a placid wonder deployed across the board in full focus (the new “Only One” works well as a paradigm).

Only once the engine was fully warmed up did Josh and company grant the audience (rather small, all told, but in full ecstasy) the subtle pleasure of a few controlled departures, as with the soft-rock fragrance of “She Haunts My Dreams” which, old trick, didn't actually appear on the album of the same title but rather on the less-loved “I Believe” (the only track from it recovered for the setlist). Likewise, in the second encore came the liveliest moment of “The Soul of Spain” (and indeed of Spain's entire career), that “Because Your Love” which added a bit of spice right at the tail end, sketching out the finest of farewells.

The peak intensity — emotional, in this case — had however come in the moments immediately before. With the intimate humanity of “Untitled #1”. With the aching invocation of “Spiritual”, which back in the day managed to enchant even Johnny Cash.

But even more so at the close of the set with the long-awaited catharsis of “World of Blue”, the band's torrential manifesto built on a phlegmatic yet inexorable crescendo, marked by Mayhall's finally decisive rhythms and embellished by the velvety e-bow of Brummel's guitar. Almost a quarter of an hour celebrating blue as a world apart, a category of the soul, a gift and a refuge — a refuge above all. A place of the spirit that only Josh Haden the lyricist's whimsical irony could ever pass off as something cold. Spain's music tonight told a very different story, fully restoring, without artifice, the truth of that unreachable mood of theirs.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google