There will be teachers that die by their own hands

As terrific as Jay Farrar sounded playing alongside Mark Spencer and Anders Parker last night at Slim's, I couldn't help but notice the sparse crowd of older, heavier, mostly male attendees as a defining feature of the evening. Normally I try to ignore these things and stick to the music. But, see, I've seen Jay Farrar a lot of times, in various settings, from a dark room on my old college campus (with Uncle Tupelo) to the packed, sweaty 9:30 Club in D.C. (same), from Bohager's in Baltimore on the first Son Volt tour to, well, Slim's five years ago, with the same Farrar/Spencer setup. I don't recall Slim's setting up tables everywhere that night. It's probably because they sold twice as many tickets for that show. The alt-country you remember from the mid-90s? It's dead, at least in terms of popularity. Or maybe it's just waiting in line for Ryan Adams tickets, behind a 22-year-old girl named Bethany who likes "Come Pick Me Up" best.

I'd like to say that Farrar just keeps getting better and better, and in some ways he has. His voice and guitar sound as good today as they ever have before. But his records? I feel they've slipped a long way over the past few years. When Wide Swing Tremolo was new, it seemed like a big letdown compared to the previous two Son Volt records. Now I wish he'd make something that good. I sold Stone, Steel & Bright Lights back to the record store after just a couple of spins, and didn't even bother with Okemah after hearing a few samples.

It's really the writing that makes the difference. I feel like a lot of his recent work is like a parody of what Jay Farrar songs sound like: disjointed ideas, words forced into places they shouldn't be, the same drone-string strums. Is the chorus to one song really "I've got a voodoo candle," pronounced four times? Isn't this the guy who wrote "Steal The Crumbs" and "Slate" and "Criminals" and.... my god, "Windfall," probably the best single song of the 90s alt-country era (may it rest in peace)?

So. I'd heard that Farrar's record with Anders Parker (Gob Iron's Death Songs For The Living; Gob Iron is a British term for a harmonica) was a bit of a revitalization. And since I won a couple of free tickets from the GAMH/Slim's Web site, I headed down to Slim's to see how it would all go down. A late report from Portland confirmed that Mark Spencer would play lead guitar. I didn't quite realize that there would be a full drum kit, played by all three people by the end of the night. Okay.

I don't know Parker's work, but I enjoyed his opening set. Can't say I connected with the words immediately; his personality isn't one that lends itself to demonstration or declaration so much. He looks a little like Sam Beam, and aims for intimate territory as well. The arresting part of this set was Spencer's guitar playing: atmospheric but also aggressive, meshing perfectly with acoustic strums, adding flesh to skeleton. I spent a few minutes watching him up close in the half-full club, and his footwork looked nearly as interesting as his fingerwork. At times, Parker made a hell of a noise himself. It's nice to see singer-songwriters get truly sonic. Too many value making their words understandable over presenting a pure sound that has a visceral impact. I can certainly understand why they do, but Parker could have been boring had he stuck with the acoustic guitar all night.

Farrar's set consisted mostly of newer material, although I recognized about three songs from Sebastopol. There was one new song, distinguished by the line "methamphetamine was the final straw" in the chorus, that upon first hearing I would rank with his best solo material. (No first-era Son Volt, no UT anywhere in the set.) Spencer alternated between lap steel and electric guitar, as he did backing Parker, providing dynamic range above and below the songwriter's performance. Sometimes when I would go to the restroom or look away, I would realize just how perfect they sounded together. Boss said the guitar was too reverby, but I'm going to disagree. The set's final song, in which I believe both guitarists tuned down to C, was sonically unholy. (Wish I knew the title.)

All three took the stage for a third and final set that included more traditional material. The Gob Iron record reworks old folk songs, and this part of the set featured train rhythms more than drone strings. Spencer played a fair amount of bass, as did Farrar. I wasn't nuts about either one's bass playing, actually, nor was any of the three men a compelling drummer, but they did endeavor to rock out. There were times when they sounded a little amateurish as a full band, but other times when the full-on rock trio setup found strength in roughness. A cover of Talking Heads' "Heaven" fell flat (heck, I think even Widespread Panic might've done better), but Dylan's "One More Cup Of Coffee" was excellent.

Maybe there's hope for a Farrar rally yet. Some of my friends have been saying it's already happening, but I'm still unconvinced. It might be fair to say he's not interested in writing what I'm hoping he eventually will. For now, though, it seems he's happier languishing in obscurity -- not in terms of popularity, but rather a kind of verbal obtuseness in which good ideas are more easily protected than exposed or shared. May the wind take your troubles away.