LIVE REVIEW: NEEDTOBREATHE @ The Slipper Room

needtobreathe

Despite the open bar and the allure of attending a “private party,” I could not convince a single one of my friends to come to this damn show with me. The conversation would go something like this: I’d say hey, there’s this concert, and it’s both super secret and free, and the band is a handsome group of fellas from South Carolina, and they play rock music, and a lot of it is about God. And whoever I was talking to would say ha, right, maybe next time, or make a joke about how, since the Lord was with me, I must not need a plus one. Even my church-going roommate wasn’t hip to Jesus rock.

Given all that, I’m not surprised NEEDTOBREATHE has worked their way out of the Christian music media circuit. Though they came of age in it, the niche has always been, in a sense, a limitation. Even as far back as their mainstream debut, 2006’s Daylight, the group has straddled the barrier between secular and sacred, pushing their image not as a devotional band per se but as a group of guys who are really passionate about a lot of things–the South, flashy classic rock, toothy smiles–and that one of those things happens to be God. Then there’s the trio’s personality to contend with–brothers Bo and Bear (yes, really) Rinehart are the sons of an Assembly of God pastor who grew up in the superbly named town of Possum Kingdom, South Carolina and have been playing tunes together since Bear was a high school football star. In college, they added bassist Seth Bolt, who looked very brooding and iconically boy-bandish, on stage at The Slipper Room, with his chin-length locks, v-neck, and many necklaces.  The trio came of age together, both as musicians and as people. As they took the stage, all smiles and electric guitar flourish, I immediately got the sense that playing music is as much an expression of the love these guys have for each other as it is anything else.

It was that ruthless warm-and-fuzziness, not any lyrical preaching, that set off my allergies. The space was small and weirdly dainty, and the decor–floral wallpaper and heavy red velvet curtains–was fully committed to the cabaret aesthetic that is associated with The Slipper Room’s name. I’d never been there for one of the burlesque performances the venue is better known for, but I was sure that any members of the audience who had ever attended a more typical Slipper Room performance were now getting a kick out of seeing a trio of Kings of Leon-ish southern dudes, with arena-friendly power chords and an earnestness so potent you’d go blind if you looked at it directly, take the stage.

The set gained momentum, and the warm-and-fuzzies ensued on two fronts. The whole event was a release party for NEEDTOBREATHE’s latest album Rivers In The Wasteland, which came out on April 15th, and most of the show’s invitees seemed to be industry folks who worked in PR or for the band’s record label, Atlantic. Nearly everyone in the room had had a hand in putting out Rivers In The Wasteland, and the camaraderie was heartwarming. As an outsider, the vibe felt a little like walking into a bunk of teenagers at the end of six weeks of summer camp: everyone was emotional, and seemed to have inside jokes with everyone else–the only thing missing were team t-shirts.

Then, maybe five or six songs into the set, Bear paused and turned to look at Bo. The next song they were going to play, he told the crowd, sounding a little choked up, was called “Brother.” In the early stages of the recording process, he explained, the group had experienced some setbacks, even taking a break to return home and think about whether or not they wanted NEEDTOBREATHE to continue. Joe Stillwell, who’d been playing with the band for over a decade, decided to leave. But the way Bear described it, his biggest goal for Rivers In The Wasteland was to rearrange the group’s priorities, and bring its three members back to their love of God and of each other. Thus, “Brother” – a love song Bo wrote for Bear.

Look, I’m a skeptic, too. I know all that sounds a little cheesy. And often, it was: like in the first verse of NEEDTOBREATHE’s incredibly anthemic single “The Heart, when Bear sang the lyrics “Ain’t no gift like the present tense, ain’t no love like an old romance / Got’sta make hay when the sun is shinin’, can’t waste time when it comes time to dance.” However, the trio’s strength–which keeps their music from being instrumentally bland and lyrically over-sweetened–is their totally endearing energy. By the time they closed out the evening with “Oh Carolina” I was sold– if not on NEEDTOBREATHE’s individuality, then certainly on their earnestness.

SHOW REVIEW: Eddi Front at The Slipper Room, 1/24/13

 

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image from a set in London last August, by Howard Melnyczuk
image from a set in London last August, by Howard Melnyczuk

It’s freezing outside, the kind of brutal cold that makes the skin of your forehead ache as you push through the night air.  You can’t find the recently re-opened venue right away, because its door is around the corner from where you thought it would be, hidden in plain sight.  Up a flight of stairs, where a doorman greets you with superfluous cordiality, you say “I’m here for Eddi Front” and you can already hear her singing.  The doorman explains to you that she’s been playing for ten minutes already, and that coats may be checked right around the corner in the vestibule. The vestibule leads to a stunning show space taller than it is wide, cluttered with candlelit tables, decorated with flowered maroon wallpaper, heavy velvet curtains and gilded moulding framing the stage upon which Ivana Carrescia, otherwise known as Eddi Front, sits strumming a guitar with bashful bearing but direct gaze, her wispy frame clad in all black, her black hair hanging in her eyes.

And you look through the dark, searching for a particular face, but the face isn’t there – only slightly different versions of the face you expect to see, like dreams in which the familiarity of your lover is inaccessible to your subconcious but still makes strange visitations, slightly off true.  You see someone with posture just like his, soft hair sloping to a gentle curve around the shoulders.  But it’s not him.  So you focus for a minute on the performer, who is poised to become the ‘next big thing’, thanks to a beguiling persona that’s both fragile and hints at the possibility of violent, wild combustion, thanks to a voice that’s tremulous and angelic but spits words that are at times angry or terse or forlorn.  She puts down the guitar and a piano player to the side of the stage helps her finish the set, which expands on the four songs she’s thus far put out into the world with new material that is as lovely and as peculiar and as melancholy as those that drew you into the warm heart of this room on such a frigid evening.

Eddi Front sings songs that are just like that: a sort of frozenness permeates them, but then there is a warmth, a hope, a nostalgia for times past and things lost.  Her songs are like maroon flowered wallpaper and black hair in eyes and searching the crowd for a face that isn’t there and will not come.  They are slightly inaccurate dream-versions of lovers.  She is the piano player with fingers depressing his black keys over and over, lost in his most mournful tones.  She is like the burlesque that followed the show – seemingly exposed, but obscured by theatrical artifice until you cannot tell where Ivana ends and Eddi begins.  She is you, waiting at a table for nothing, feeling your heart shatter.  You remember her words in “Gigantic”, with which she closed the show:  I’ve always been slow to get off of some drugs, to let go of some loves.  I’ll crawl out of this hole soon enough.  Take my ring off.  And eventually, you stand up, put on your sweater and your coat and your gloves, and make your way out into the frozen city once again.

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