Last Friday, Charlottesville’s Jefferson Theater was graced by Philly rocker Kurt Vile, along with the band Swirlies. I brought along a friend who’d never heard Kurt Vile, and it was awesome to watch her reactions to the artist. Following Swirlies, Kurt played a delightfully long set with his full band, known as Kurt Vile and the Violators.
The show wasn’t packed but the crowd proved immensely attentive. Swirlies, a band that’s been around for a long time but with whom I was unfamiliar, blew me away. I could easily write an entire review solely about their lo-fi experimental noise rock, but as they were merely the opener I’ll attempt a dance with brevity. Swirlies made some noise. Their stage presence was fairly subdued but intense--think My Bloody Valentine. Typically shoe-gazey elements permeated the performance: heaps of noisy, distorted guitar. That said, I was struck by how dynamically they played. The one female member played synth and sang on a few of the tracks, while other male members sang on others. Juxtaposed with the wailing guitar, her toned-down vocals were haunting. I was struck by the diversity of their material. While some of the tunes evoked pure punk, I’d go so far as to describe one of the songs as Animal Collective-like in its smooth, rhythmic playfulness. As I’d never listened to Swirlies, I couldn't tell you the name of these songs, but this performance made me an instant fan. There was so much power, so much noise, and so many pedals! The stage setup evinced a wall of sound against the audience. I’d never seen a drum kit placed so far forward on stage, in line with the rest of the musicians. This created an emphasis on the powerful percussionist. There was an unusual deal of chatter amongst the drummer and guitarists. Though their style may be associated with a bygone era, the intensely noisy yet dynamic performance was refreshing to my 23 year old ears.
Beginning with his unruly mane and confrontational gaze, Kurt Vile’s mere presence has an ethereal quality. While focused, his gaze flew above our heads, as if beholden to some vision the audience couldn’t see. You wonder if he’s having a transcendental experience up there. There’s something unexpected about how his voice relates melodically to the notes he plays on the guitar. Seemingly stray phrases accompany the traditional song structure of Vile’s compositions. He loves to say “yeahhhh” with a stoner edge. Perhaps he should trademark this vocalization. Though composed and quite similar to the recorded material, the live rendering of his music toyed with expectations. He opened to an exultant crowd with “Wakin On A Pretty Day,” the almost-title song from his newest album, Wakin’ On A Pretty Daze. This tune is beachy, more joyful than much of his other work. I was delighted by his live singing--it conveyed all the feeling inherent in his recordings. Vile’s music never fails to convey a listlessness, both lyrically and through his signature drawl.
The listless yearning in his eyes and his beaten-down lyrics combines with pointed, intense guitar solos and creates a gorgeous juxtaposition: he coos and waxes poetic, then punctuates his self-created hypnosis by wailing on the guitar. As this happens, the look in his eyes changes. The appearance of sanity turns on and off. His gaze remains distant as he sings, but his eyes focus downward during guitar solos. He and the crowd seem jolted by his powerful guitar playing. On more upbeat tunes, the rest of the band creates a swirling mix of sounds.
Vile began the set playing an acoustic guitar, but switched to an electric rig for his second song. From there he alternated between the two for the majority of the show. It created an interesting juxtaposition with the aforementioned voice/guitar solo dynamic. Acoustically, his sound was far crisper than the hazy, lo-fi quality of his playing on the electric rig. His tone on the acoustic rig was hauntingly beautiful.
Unfortunately, a bit of the show was marred by sound issues with the bass player. His tech came on stage repeatedly to fix some sort of glitch. The first few songs lacked their backbone, but the issue eventually was rectified. Vile and the rest of the band played on impressively throughout the troubleshooting period.
While Vile’s backdrop promoted the artwork from “Waking on a Pretty Daze,” his newest album, I was pleased to hear a mix of old and new material. There’s a strong emotional contrast between the older and newer songs. While earlier works rung out heavier themes, the new albums interweaves themes of lightheartedness. Though lyrically heavy in the same vein as “Ghost Town,” from Smoke Ring For My Halo, “Shame Chamber” beckons the listener to laugh at herself. I was bummed that this song was performed live without the cowbell effect it has on the album. The band drew out jams, which continued Wakin’ On A Pretty Daze’s exploration of longer tracks in relation to Vile’s older albums.
After the full band rocked the crowd for over an hour, Vile played some solo songs on his acoustic guitar. I felt this portion of the show flowed better than the portion with the Violators. The crowd that had rocked out mere moments before stood wide-eyed as his dove into “Peeping Tom,” an evocative tune off Smoke Ring for My Halo. Yet again, the contrasts were undeniable. While Vile’s full band played loudly, on par with the music made by Swirlies, this portion of the show was quiet, intimate. The previously mischievous look in Vile’s eyes turned solemn.
Vile encored with “Baby’s Arms,” which stands as one of his most beloved and well-known tracks. “I get sick of just about anyone, and I hide in my baby’s arms,” the song goes. Unparalleled sincerity oozed through the tune, which he played accompanied only by a bassist. He added a premixed beat to this tune, which gave the slow tune an unexpectedly upbeat quality.
I’ve never witnessed a show with such varied energy levels, on the part of both the crowd and the band. Serene, wide eyed listeners soon replaced their headbanging former selves. It was oddly appropriate, considering that Vile himself started the set with primal whoops and screaming into the microphone, before diving into intimate acoustic solo works. As a crowd, we were rocked from the gut, sonically and lyrically.