If life is really as short as they say, then why is the night so long?

After the strong showing from M. Ward at the Fillmore last fall, I was pleased to see that he'd be doing a short solo tour in select cities, and jumped on a pair of tickets for last night's show at Bimbo's shortly after they went on sale. The day amounted to a long, enervating one -- baseball practice, a Super Bowl party in the Haight, and the show -- but the last event was worth staying on my feet for.

A sparse crowd seated cross-legged on the parquet floor rose to its feet as Victoria Williams began her opening set; the crowd would swell to fill the sold-out room by night's end. Williams played with a bassist and, briefly, Ward himself. Williams is not an easy songwriter to accompany. Her songs change tempo, lurch forward and back, and glide through talky sections, while her delivery ranges from somewhat groovy to extremely difficult to follow. It also seemed like the bassist hadn't rehearsed much at all. He was fairly superfluous, providing minimal support for Williams' bizarre rural tales, animal noises and emotional visions.

Williams is one of the most ingenuous artists alive, and she is not uncreative. Her skill set as a performer, however, is fairly limited. I'd like to say she makes up for it in purity of intention, heart and soul -- her performance certainly isn't a contrived act -- but at some point in the evening, I had to admit to myself that sometimes she's just caterwauling. There is something about what she does that cuts straight through to the heart of the matter, and even makes you feel displaced from your normal self (as much good art does). There is also something about what she does that reminds me of cats fighting behind my old house in Baltimore. I found "Crazy Mary" and "You R Loved" moving, and "T.C." intriguing; "Happy Come Home" was excruciating. Would I pay $5 to see her again next weekend? Sadly, the answer is no. But I like her anyway.

She called M. Ward "Matt" all night. I wonder if he's starting to regret the abbreviated stage name. (It makes it hard to explain to people who you're going to see, although as a longtime college lacrosse watcher I appreciate that he's differentiated himself from this guy.) Ward began his set with a fairly high-energy, five-plus-minute fingerpicked guitar solo. We were lucky enough to be quite close to him, so I was able to witness his aggressive technique up close. He's got a gnarly little right hand, actually, and he hits way harder than Mississippi John Hurt ever did. And, gosh, his old Gibson sounded terrific. The instrumental was followed by "Chinese Translation," my favorite of his latest batch of songs; he leaned heavily on Post-War for the set list, but threw in faves like his "Let's Dance" cover from past records. I often thought of Catano Veloso. As a singer, Ward seems highly intent on communicating meaning in every word. Did some simple, subtle piano songs too, including his Beatle George tribute "Here Comes The Sun Again." Ward made use of a loop pedal on about half his guitar numbers, and waved goodbye at the end of the set as three of his own guitars played the wonderful "Undertaker," ushering him into the wings.

Williams joined Ward for the encore; they appeared to decide what to play onstage. He essayed at least one of her songs, then the fun began: "Moon River," "When Will I Be Loved?" and "Stand By Me," performed as duets. (The bassist still seemed lost.) I admit that I preferred his encore with Watt last time, but on the whole this was a very satisfying performance.

[UPDATE: Here's that gnarly little right hand in action.]


FMFM: Barney Kessel, Shelly Manne and Ray Brown's Poll Winners reunion album, Straight Ahead. It could be a tad less inspired than the original efforts from the late 1950s, but the band still sounds alive and swinging.