Nick Lowe
Bowery Ballroom
New York, New York
Review by Jim Allen
Whither the power-poppers of yore? Those skinny-tied, smart-suited gents whose Beatlesque hooks and snappy beats put them at the vanguard of pop culture for one brief shining moment circa 1979/80. By and large, they've gone the way of the "where's the beef?" lady (anyone heard from the Shoes, Rubinoos, or Records in the last couple of decades?). It's all the more astonishing, then, for a rocker of that vintage to grow into a musically mature artist whose work not only endures but keeps getting better, a la Nick Lowe. For the last ten years, the man formerly known as the Jesus of Cool has been turning out introspective, heart-on-sleeve albums heavy on soulful ballads displaying both expert craftsmanship and true passion.
For his first visit to the States in many moons, Lowe decided to keep things low-key, mostly performing in acoustic troubadour mode. This kind of scenario isn't always complementary to former rock 'n' rollers, but it fits like a glove in Lowe's case. His mellifluous voice, grown huskier with age, is the ideal vehicle for delicately rendered tales of heartbreak; Lowe comes off more like a British Sam Cooke than a guy who once produced an album for the Damned. And with his natty look and witty repartee, he's a natural-born crowd-charmer, perfectly suited for one-on-one communication with audiences like the rapt, reverent crowd at the Bowery Ballroom, where a pin drop would have sounded like a gunshot during Lowe's exquisite set.
Singer/pianist Geraint Watkins, who has played in Lowe's band for years and would accompany him on a few songs at the end of the latter's set, opened the show with a mix of soul and jazzy blues, channeling Mose Allison and Ray Charles via Georgie Fame. Watkins' compelling voice and trenchant ivory pounding bespoke a lifetime spent absorbing American roots music, and he even went to so far as to add a surprisingly effective R&B tinge to the Beach Boys chestnut "Heroes & Villains." With little ado, Lowe soon took the stage to rapturous applause, launching into a set that leaned heavily on his last three albums. From his whispered vocal on the jazzy "You Inspire Me" to his forlorn croon on "What's Shakin' On The Hill" and his ominous growl on "The Beast In Me" (best known from a rendition done by Lowe's ex-father-in-law, Johnny Cash), Lowe expertly deployed the soft end of live-performance dynamics. Even when whipping out a favorite from the power-pop glory days, like "Heart Of The City," he refined the feel from breathless rock 'n' roll to mid-tempo bounce, successfully transmuting the energy of youth to the wisdom of age with aplomb.
Some striking new songs were unveiled as well, including one with a relatively subtle political bent and a good-natured, decidedly non-PC romp about a serial heartbreaker. One hopes these will soon see the light of day as part of a new album. For as much of a master tunesmith as Lowe is — churning out a seemingly endless string of soul-stirring songs with startling ease — he's self-effacing enough to tip his hat to some of his own favorite songwriters. To that end, Lowe turned out an invigorating take on former Little Village bandmate John Hiatt's "She Don't Love Nobody," which also turns up on his 1985 album Rose Of England, and an encore found him covering the late American R&B legend Arthur Alexander's "Lonely Just Like Me."
Ultimately, one can't help but be struck by the overwhelmingly sad lyrical content of Lowe's latter-day material. For a man who's rhymed "ghastly" with "Rick Astley" and gloried in good-time nonsense songs like "Shting-Shtang," there's an almost unremitting catalogue of loneliness and heartache in the contemporary Nick Lowe's work. The sterling songcraft he employs in these tragic tales of love and loss, not to mention his consistent onstage effervescence, would ostensibly seem to put the lie to his woeful utterances, but in fact the reverse is true. One walks away with a sense that Lowe has found a way to play musical alchemist, turning heartbreak into bewitching beauty for all to hear. Can there be a higher aspiration for a singer/songwriter of any style or vintage?
