Over five LPs and an EP, Cass McCombs has made a name for himself as a singer-songwriter of transfixing songs full of subtle power and emotional resonance.
On July 15, McCombs brought his four-piece band with him to the small, sold-out backstage of the Black Cat in Washington and delivered a mesmerizing concert.
After a slightly funny, sort of odd introduction by a man claiming to be from Chicago, the band took the stage to a light display more in line with the Black Eyed Peas, or more aptly, The Flaming Lips of the Clouds Taste Metallic era. The many blinking, little lights filled the wall behind the group and provided the only illumination as the house lights went dark.
Though the stage set was more sci-fi than the earthy folk McCombs brings to mind, it somehow suited the songs of the evening. Instead of focusing on the appearance of the players, the crowd resorted to the depth of McCombs’ songs.
Depth is a constant theme in the work of the mysterious McCombs, whether depth be represented in his words (“Hermit’s Cave” from his new album Wit’s End) or in the deep and satisfying well of feeling McCombs’ songs provide.
The night began with “Buried Alive,” a somber song from the melancholy Wit’s End. “Buried Alive” was a welcome introduction for the night, showcasing McCombs and the band’s sweet, hushed harmonies and hypnotic, sorrowful melodies.
Fan favorite “Pregnant Pause” followed and an extended version of the irresistibly dreamy “Harmonia” was next. A highlight from McCombs’ previous LP, Catacombs, “Harmonia” featured solos from each member of the band, most noticeably a crafty drum solo on a minimal kit.
McCombs is a mastermind when it comes to lyrics. He can be clever and funny, truthful and philosophical, depressing and insightful. “Friend of mine/ fades to black/ does this belong to you?/ I pull the knife from my back,” McCombs sang on “Harmonia,” demonstrating his uncanny knack for words and melody.
McCombs’ wise speak-sing voice and his majestic falsetto only add to the equation. While McCombs wrote, “Lyrics are my racket, music is play, the fluff stuff,” in a letter this year to The Los Angeles Times, the songwriter’s music is what makes his work so enchanting.
McCombs is more folk in pacing and lyrical style than in his sounds, which bring to mind countrified British jangle pop and dream pop. Most of his songs carry an emotional weight, conveyed not only in McCombs’ voice and lyrics but in the aching notes.
The slide guitar parts of “Harmonia” are particularly representative of this and were well-received at the Black Cat. Only three songs into the set, and the show was blissful.
Beautiful is the truest word to describe the McCombs’ catalog and his spellbinding live show. McCombs’ near-transcendent songs seem to touch upon all the most tender human emotions: love, loneliness and happiness. His songs often convey the understanding and compassion that comes with death, as well as the humor that comes with life. If not expressed through his words, these feelings are certainly addressed in his memorable melodies and notes.
After an incredible rendition of “Don’t Vote” in the middle of the set, McCombs and band veered the show into a more guitar-led rock direction, with “Equinox,” “Lionkiller,” “When The Bible Was Wrote” and “That’s That.” This course climaxed with the evening’s final song of the encore-less concert, the rambunctious “Bury Mary.”
The song is one of McCombs’ liveliest, detailing the account of a man offing a woman named Mary. “Ping-ping goes the shovel!/ Pang-pang goes the pail!” McCombs yelped in the short barn burner.
It was an odd way to circle back to the night’s beginning, “Buried Alive.” Is there a narrative connection between the songs? Perhaps. But McCombs isn’t likely to spill the beans.
As the finale, the rockabilly-tinged number served as a suitable closer, a fun song to end an evening featuring more meditating than dancing.
rhiggins@umdbk.com
