Bunyan's progress

"So this is her first American tour since...?"

"Ever."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

That was a little piece of my conversation with the merch guy/tour manager at the Vashti Bunyan show last Thursday at the Great American Music Hall. Bunyan's musical career has been reanimated over the past few years, with a reissue of her 1970 debut and a new album. Now, this: a ten-date North American tour, preceded by a few nights in Scandinavia and the U.K.

I admit I hadn't given Bunyan much thought prior to the gig, but was strangely drawn to the entire occurrence. I'd heard perhaps half a dozen songs beforehand, and found them pleasant, sweet, feminine and rather slight. Some of the best aspects of her "rediscovered" album, in fact, seemed to be someone else's work: the Fairport contributions, the string charts (hey, wow, it's that guy who did the Nick Drake records!). I hadn't heard a note of her 2005 record, but her associations with other musicians were enough to draw me in -- for one night, at least.

That element was well-represented at the Great American last Thursday, particularly by the presence of Brightblack Morning Light as openers. Certain popular terms, such as "psych-folk," or worse, "freak folk," do not properly represent Brightblack, although as Friends of Devendra they're apparently tangentially connected to that circle. Brightblack is definitely psychedelic, by my definition, but is more interested in spacey, shape-shifting musical sculptures than in any kind of folk-rock. (They are, however, cosmic American.)

I believe Brightblack played five pieces in fifty minutes, the first two without a drummer. (Typical instrumentation: slide guitar with lots of effects; well-maintained Rhodes piano; harp. Appropriate for séances.) I never made out any of the words, which were few, far-between, and heavily processed. This band made Low sound like Hüsker Dü. They moved so slowly that their little nuances were magnified; I can't decide whether this is a good thing or whether they simply lowered the bar this way. Either way my internal clock ticks a little faster than Brightblack's music does, and while I think I liked what they were going for, I can't say I would've liked to see them play again the next night. (Not an option this time.)

Anyway on to Vashti. The Music Hall filled up considerably by the time she went onstage; they had to open the balcony to accommodate all the walk-up ticket buyers. She sat at the back of a semicircle, flanked by five highly sympathetic musicians, all young enough to be her children. Two brought their bows (violin, cello); two played guitar (acoustic and electric); one switched among flute, piano and concertina. All played impeccably, true to original arrangements, tasteful, pastoral, lovely. In voice, Vashti was strong, emotional, bound by the same limitations as before.

Vashti's set list was slightly weighted toward her 1960s material, but included plenty of new works, practically indiscernable from the old stuff in tone but not in content. (Most of the new ones were about raising her children.) She introduced each song with a brief anecdote or explanation, highlighting the changes in her life over the years, displaying disarming humility and shyness at the microphone as well as genuine appreciation for the warm reception she received. I still can't say I've been converted to true fandom of her songs, exactly, but I was very much moved by the entire presentation.

The portrait that started to emerge was one of a once-adventurous youth who had settled into a more domestic life while maintaining a free spirit. Many of us do these things: prioritize our kids' lives over our own, sacrifice ideals for practicality, pursue a more comfortable life than one spent sleeping in some sort of hippie mud caravan (as Bunyan did, spending a year and a half in a horse-drawn cart traveling from London to the Hebrides, if I remember correctly). And although Bunyan joked about it, it seemed that she was just a little uncomfortable revisiting that period of her life night after night, simply because so many of her early songs were about a particular lost love. I don't envy the idea resurrecting one's career by retelling the story of a romance from one's early 20s every evening. Who would?

Overall the evening lived up to its potential as a special night. An appreciative crowd demanded more from Vashti, and she seemed to leave the stage more hopeful than when she arrived.