By Jennifer Gibson
Let me start off by saying something that might actually
garner me some hate mail from people I consider friends: I don’t trust Jack
White. I make it a point to avoid much of what he touches, largely because he
seems to get a lot of undue praise for being one hell of a faux bluesman. But
his pal and fellow Raconteur Brendan Benson is a special case. As far as I can
tell, this guy operates on no pretenses other than shaggy hair plus jeans and a T-shirt equals infatuating pop-rock; ie. what you see is what you get. There’s
not a lot of pretending going on in Benson’s world, and it’s that ease and
comfort with the self that made his December 11 show at The EARL feel downright
comfy, kind of like hanging out in your friend’s basement and playing just for
the fun of it, with all the mistakes included. Even struck with a cold and a
scratchy throat, which he admitted to treating mostly with “red wine and cigarettes,”
he didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would gyp anyone out of the best he’s
got to give.
Benson’s main misstep was inviting his pal Cory Chisel to
open for him, and even that wasn’t a gaping error. But it wasn’t the right
move, either, considering Chisel seems to exist in a land of mostly formulaic
alt-country tunes. He did, however, deliver them with some passion, which shored
the gap between him and Benson just a little. His band played with the same
sort of presence, but as engaging as the personalities were they often just
couldn’t get out of the bland country rock rut. There was nothing that hasn’t
been seen or heard before. It was mostly a rehashing of early 2000s
spark or the likeability or the catchy hooks. In a word, boring.
But Chisel’s got some tricks up his sleeve – he started
winding down his set with an incredibly well-crafted bluesy piece, and even
stuck in a few semi-memorable pop songs. He’s got something going on inside
other than mimicry, but he’s not accessing it frequently enough. If his time on
stage were set to the kinds of songs he ended with, there would be more to say
about his performance. But bland and boring mostly covers it. Going any further
than that might verge on mean spiritedness.
The floor started getting crowded when Benson finally
appeared, which means more heat and more smoke, which also means a show can be
a lot less enjoyable if the band can’t override the environmental conditions.
If it’s only slightly OK, I probably won’t stick around in the fog long enough
to find out of if it gets better. But he has a charm shining through the
tendrils obscuring his face, despite fighting a cold that left his voice a
little off he fought for every song. Imagine catching Butch Walker on a decent
night, and you’re pretty close to imagining Brendan Benson’s performance. And
his music.
And that’s where the only complaint comes in. I don’t know
who’s the chicken and who’s the egg, but Benson and Walker are cut from the same
sugar rock cloth. Seeing one might as well be seeing the other. Both even seem
to share a strange penchant for occasionally writing songs with disco-esque
intros, and those songs are rarely the good ones. (But they always break them
out on stage. Note to them: not a good idea.)
But, ultimately, who cares if Benson’s a knock-off or what
came first or who freely admits to liking disco? He works well on the stage,
and he puts on a fun show. The music is good. It’s danceable. And he’s easy to
relate to. He’s a simple performer who seems to put on no airs. It’s not hard
to respond to a musician who isn’t trying to fool anyone.
This wasn’t a classic show, nor was it anything to write
home passionately about. But it was a fun gathering of people who came to see a
guy hang out and do what he loves to do. Of course, that’s my interpretation.
Like many people say of my anti-Jack White stance, I could be wrong.
