Overheard At The Vetiver / Joanna Newsom / Devendra Banhart Show

The Gypsy Tea Room, 2548 Elm Street, Dallas, TX. 9:07 PM: Friday, July 2, 2004 -- 1:26 AM: Saturday, July 3, 2004.

You're beautiful! [shouted]
(young man to Joanna Newsom, just after she concluded the first song of her 40 minute set, "Bridges And Balloons")

That always happens.
(stage whisper in response to the sound of a plastic cup being kicked into the crowd before the stage and crunched underfoot, only to rebound into its original shape with a loud, hollow popping, during a particularly quiet moment in Vetiver's set… "Without A Song", I believe)

[A private but hearty chuckle.]
(the box camera operator and his sidelong glances, mitigated not at all by his small, very round eyeglasses, from his position at the rear of the stage)

So, this guy has much of a following?
(genuinely perplexed and possibly impressed individual behind me, in reference to a suddenly torso-bearing Devendra Banhart, as the crowd continued to multiply and "Excuse me"'s softly exploded around me in the progress of intent listeners towards the foot of the stage)

That'll be 2 bucks, pardner.
(bartender to me, in exchange for 12 ounces of bottled water [Ozarka])

By the end of the show Mr. Banhart had risen from his seat and only occasionally revisited his guitar. He stretched and swiveled shirtless, reminiscent of a bearded guru full of Eastern wisdom. His voice shook the room.
(review of the concert from The Dallas Morning News, Sunday, July 4, 2004, page 7B ["Overnight"]: Folk acts mesh at concert, by Margaret Myrick, Special Contributor [no email address provided])

[The crackle and whistling of campfire sticks splitting into threads of ash.]
(something I thought I heard)

I think she must be from Iceland.
(either a hypothesis based on Ms. Newsom's personal appearance or an approximately clever reference to the Bjork-like qualities of her singing; the latter is more unlikely, however, unless the speaker's ignorance was feigned, as the comment was made before Ms. Newsom began her performance)

[Sigh.]
(the damp brown towel laid by cellist Alissa Anderson on her thigh to protect it from chafing in the gentle, polished concavity of her chosen instrument)

I don’t know any other philosophy majors.
(one young man to another, just before Ms. Newsom took the stage to tune up. Both young men had tousled curls and underage "X"'s magic-markered across the backs of their right hands, the knuckles causing the diagonal lines to veer and fracture. I could swear I had seen both of them the night before, stooping with a large crowd of smokers outside Café Brazil, a 24-hour coffee shop located near the Southern Methodist University campus)

I'd like to dedicate this next song to the moon. Have you all seen the moon tonight? You should take a look at the moon. It's incredible.
(Andy Cabic of Vetiver, introducing the song "Luna Sea with a slight drawl and half-lidded eyes)

I'd like to dedicate this performance to the state of Texas.
(Mr. Banhart, on-mike)

[A slang dictionary, its black binding licked and gnawed down to sticky gray netting by silverfish, open to the entry for "soup" and that term's idiomatic derivatives.]
(the image I developed of what sits before Mr. Banhart as he compses his lyrics)

[Vladmir Nabakov, 1. William Blake, 0.]
(tally of literary references made by Ms. Newsom in a recent interview printed in the magazine The Believer [June 2004])

[Hush.]
(the rustle of gingham and thin cotton onstage as Ms. Newsom, Ms. Anderson of Vetiver, vocalist Stacy, as in "my friend Stacy" [onstage announcement by Ms. Newsom] gathered at a microphone positioned stage left for the evening's final jamboree.)

[I shall not want. Let no man put asunder. His leaf also shall not wither.]
(the words behind Mr. Banhart's teeth)

Where were you all those other times?
(the old posters and handbills -- advertising personal appearances by Mance Lipscomb, Townes Van Zandt, Alejandro Escovedo -- framed behind glass and mounted on the venue's interior, wood-paneled walls, to all assembled; my answer, much delayed, is that I was not alive yet, or that I did not know I was alive then)

Is she Russian?
(speculation upon Ms. Newsom's national identity, said very near my elbow, at that time crooked [drink not in hand])

Oh, SHIT!
(uttered with deliberate volume, and in admiration, or disbelief, or in mockery of fandom awe as a form of dismissal, as Mr. Banhart hit the first high notes on the refrain to the opening song in his 40-minute set, "This Is The Way")

What kind of drinking establishment in Texas doesn’t serve Lone Star?
(me, to myself, shaking my head and returning to the sway with a Shiner Bock)

ZzzzzzzzzzzFFFFFFFffffffffffzzzzzzzzzzzFFFFFFFffffffffffzzzzzzzzzzzFFFFFFFffffffffff [etc.]
(the narrow-wale and alternating black and white stripes on Mr. Banhart's jersey)

[Minnie Marx. Captain Beefheart. R.E.M.'s first album. Nick Drake. Caddo Lake.]
(comparisons I kept at bay that evening, but which I have no compunction in indulging right now)

Do I have time for one more or two?
(the disarming Ms. Newsom, head tilted with sincere inquisitiveness, and holding non-thimbled fingers aloft)

"Swallow Song"!
(a request not honored, and not without some regret, by Mr. Banhart)

[Pinyon smoke. Chalk. Dry, unmixed pigments. Limes. 40 watt bulbs (incandescent). Red dirt. Rock salt. Crepe myrtle aspirations (spherical gems of water and sap). Tambourines. Trampolines. Cumulus clouds. The absence of rain. The loll and warp of laundry in the wind. Catalpa beans in their stringy pods. Quilts. Screened windows. Turpentine. Victrola horns. Crawdads and creek stones in an old red coffee can. Boats made from three-hole notebook paper.]
(the air in the room)

Like Jeff Buckley molested by Jim Morrison.
(my younger brother conflating his impressions of Mr. Banhart's vocal range and Mr. Banhart's hirsute physiognomy)

-- You know what you are? You're my Richard Burton.
[Laughter, non-distracting, followed by an embrace]
-- You know what that makes you?
-- What?
-- My Cleopatra.
-- Oh great… I've still never seen that one.
(the parties to this exchange request to retain their anonymity. But I can tell you that he wore a paisley sports-shirt and she had on button-fly jeans)

She looks like a mermaid!
(female observation on Ms. Newsom's fashion accessories)

Posted by joe on July 6, 2004 10:14 AM