Matthew E. White

It had been one of those rare surprises, spontaneous and never fully decipherable, that came with the debut last summer of the talented Richmond musician Matthew E. White. A refreshing experience, since it was light years away from most of the familiar influences dominating today's (rather stifling) alternative singer-songwriter scene, but also a disorienting oddity straddling seemingly distant genres, not easy to fully absorb and, perhaps precisely for that reason, especially valuable to the unwary listener free of preconceptions. Barely eight months after its release (three since Domino relaunched it in Europe), Italian audiences too have finally had the chance to sample the quality of the highly original work by the affable Virginia singer, albeit in a form inevitably scaled down compared to the dazzling alchemical evolutions captured in the studio with an impressive array of musicians and collaborators. It certainly wasn't the crowd of a major event that showed up at Hiroshima in Turin to seek confirmation from the live rendition of those songs, but the turnout was still respectable in number, attentive and very warm, for an emerging artist who, around these parts, has so far received far less attention than he deserves. Living up to the impressions of those unfamiliar with him, the burly American came across as very shy in front of his audience, speaking few faint words, and sporting the same look as in his promotional photos: a professorial beard, long straight hair gathered back in a ponytail, an oversized hippy shirt, and just one guitar, played with varying intensity from the first to the last minute of the show.

With him was a sizeable lineup, though much smaller than the one heard on record. A bassist, a drummer and a percussionist bulked out a rhythm section that was full-bodied and versatile, aided only by one further (essential) musician handling keyboards, synth inserts and sampled sounds to give the songs at least a pale echo of the depth and colour that the arrangers and orchestra had provided so generously and compellingly on record. No horns, then, and the absence was somewhat felt. The near-necessary minimalist imprint once again altered (though didn't overturn) the character of the gems from "Big Inner", steering their development and effect away from the original's spectacular, contaminated symphonic pop and marching-band psychedelia and toward a lively country sound streaked with blues and marked, though still pleasant, jazzy detours (courtesy of drummer Pinson Chanselle) or etno-folk ones (a specialty of the remarkable Scott Clark). More Fight the Big Bull than Matthew E. White, then, at least at first, with the frontman's vocal contributions heavily hemmed in by Cameron Ralston's overly intrusive bass and by the unexpected prominence of congas, tambourines and tea tins filled with sand. Little by little, though, Matt came out of his shell, taking the reins of his band, allowing himself the odd joke and steering the collective's efforts back toward soul and black music, thereby at least partly restoring the promise of the evening's premise.

With "Big Love" things really started to get compelling, not least because the effects-laden intrusions and the subtle electronic tears supplied by Gabe Churray livened up the performance considerably, without ever falling into mere replica mode. The guitar came out of it strengthened, as did White's performance, less static at centre stage and clearly enjoying the crowd's response. A fine cover of guiding light Randy Newman added extra shine, but the peak—inevitably—came just a few minutes later, with the endless instrumental build of "Brazos" and its gospel fire igniting into an electrifying, noisy coda. A fitting close, just as on the album, though it arrived, sadly, after barely an hour, with no chance of a comeback: the encore was perhaps skipped so as not to spoil the intensity of the farewell. The only thing missing from the set was "Hot Toddies", and it would have been fascinating to see how the thirty-year-old from Richmond would have rewritten the track's dark symphonism live. Warm applause at the end, even though the performance, hampered as noted above, fell somewhat short of expectations. Plenty going on and no shortage of personality, and it's worth remembering this was still a debut show, with encouraging signs of growth—though genius with a capital "G" wasn't entirely borne out. Further evidence, in the studio as much as on stage, will be needed before we venture any truly weighty verdicts.

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