More than 30 years after the likes of Joni Mitchell and James Taylor established personal disclosure in song as a convention of modern pop music, sensitive singer-songwriters continue to combine autobiography and acoustic guitar chords.
After three decades of rapid social and musical change, though, the straightforward stories and tunes that once defined the singer-songwriter’s art no longer suit many of its modern practitioners. At Martyrs’ Sunday night, the performances of Josh Rouse and Sarah Harmer offered two examples of the ways young artists are adapting the form to suit their personal visions.
For Nebraska native turned Nashville resident Rouse, the personal nature of his craft is occasion for dreamy reflection more than blunt confession, an approach he’s taken on his first two CDs. If “Directions” was an ironically direct account of aimlessness, songs like “Laughter” and “100M Backstroke” provided elliptical descriptions of a self-conscious, guarded protagonist navigating relationships with himself and others.
Rouse sang in a voice that was part choirboy tenor, part congested misfit. His moaning voice and dour melodies on some songs, including “Nothing Gives Me Pleasure,” recalled the Replacements’ Paul Westerberg, while the way his voice rose from murmuring verses to ascending choruses stamped the likes of “Suburban Sweetheart” with a brand of yearning all his own.
The music accompanying these reveries was similarly more expressive than explicit. As Rouse strummed ringing acoustic guitar chords, electric guitarist Curt Perkins redefined the role of accompanist, shunning conventional leads for droning, echo-heavy textures.
For all the atmospheric appeal of Rouse’s songs, though, the music cried out for more explicit definition, as the abstract aura Rouse created clouded the performer more than it enveloped the listener.
The leader of the Kingston, Ontario band Weeping Tile, Harmer has a soft, flexible alto that’s ready-made for pouring out one’s heart, capable of trilling high notes and low cooing heavy with meaning. Harmer, though, conveyed a sense of detached self-awareness with her cool delivery, as she performed material from “You Were Here,” her U.S. debut as a solo artist.
Whether telling an argumentative lover to give it, and her, a rest on “Don’t Get Your Back Up” or reflecting frankly on romantic betrayal during “Coffee Stain,” Harmer seemed more clear-eyed and sturdy than romantic and vulnerable.
Musically, too, Harmer departed from coffeehouse stereotypes. A rhythm section that doubled on electric guitar and cello helped expand the songs beyond their acoustic guitar foundation, and the progression from lullaby to art-rock chant of “Lodestar” in particular indicated that Harmer is capable of taking the craft of songwriting in bold directions.
