Stagestruck

RICHARD BUCKNER/ANDERS PARKER
@Cactus Cafe, Austin, TX
September 15, 2001
It's hard to say how the ugly events of Sept. 11 affected the mood at the Cactus Cafe on this warm Saturday night. There was a lot of conversation, but eavesdropping picked up nothing related to the tragedy four days before. Perhaps that's as it should be. The object of terrorism is to instill the kind of crippling fear that prevents a people from comfortably engaging in its routine. The best way to combat that fear is to not be intimidated, to continue on as normally as possible. Give blood, watch the news, donate money, pray, whatever helps you deal—but keep on keepin' on. The healthy (but not sell-out) crowd obviously felt that way. They talked, laughed, bought drinks and gave their attention to two of America's most heralded underground songwriters.

Anders Parker, who records under the name Varnaline, has a quintet of good-to-incredible albums in his catalog, and I for one was looking forward to hearing selections from them for the first time in a live context. (Very few members of the crowd seemed to know who he was, though. Maybe if the club had billed his appearance as Varnaline...) He started, interestingly enough, with a feedback 'n' whammy bar soundscape on his baby blue Stratocaster, a piece more in keeping with his past work in Space Needle than Varnaline. As the waves continued to shimmer from his amp, he picked up an acoustic guitar and began fingerpicking the melody to "Blackbird Fields," from the latest Varnaline album Songs in a Northern Key. After a warm reception to one of the loveliest songs in his book, he strummed into "Green Eyed Stars," one of the standouts from the new record. He added a bit of distortion to the end of the next tune "Difference," a song at the heart of Northern Key and one whose chorus "What difference could it make?" resonated with the hurt and confusion that lingers in the wake of the World Trade Center's destruction.

Parker switched to his acoustic 12-string for "Still Dream," fiddling with the rhythm, speeding up and slowing down in a push-pull fashion. He then visited the "Gulf of Mexico," the opening track of what many consider Varnaline's masterpiece, the sadly out-of-print Sweet Life. "Problem with coming to Texas," he commented wryly as he switched back to the Strat, "is that your two main food groups are Mexican and barbecue. So I'm just starting to wake up." He then went into "Meet Me On the Ledge," one of his poppiest, most memorable tunes, from his second record Varnaline. Going back to the six-string acoustic, he played a new song, with an incredibly catchy melody and a gentle admonition to "Save another life." It's easily his most uplifting piece yet.

Unfortunately, that was it. Seven songs, all great, all performed with such skill and verve the audience never missed the fleshed-out arrangements found on the records. Despite not knowing who he was, the crowd was quite appreciative. Not enough to give him an encore, alas, but enough for him to know he was well-received. Maybe next time he comes through it will be as a headliner with a full set and his band in tow.

Buckner was much more generous with catalog; with two sets and an encore, he ended up playing 23 songs drawn from all four of his albums. Unfortunately, too many of those songs sounded like variations on the same melody. He wrote some classics on his first album Bloomed, such as "Surprise, AZ," "Blue and Wonder" (both of which he played) and "Rainsquall." But nearly everything since has followed the same patterns of brooding verses, bright choruses and enigmatic lyrics. By his second album Devotion + Doubt his tunes had already begun to blur together, and hearing so many of them at the same time only emphasized his compositional limitations. Tunes like "Lucky Buzz" (the opener), "Song of 27" and "Goner w/ Souvenir" all had their moments, but they sounded too much like different verses of the same tune. His mealy-mouthed delivery, like a full-throated Dylan in his later years, didn't help. His loose, affected vocals slurred so badly sometimes that even the choruses were unintelligible. There were a few bright spots, including the a cappella "Fater," "Boys, the Night Will Bury You" and "Emma," all of which break away from his usual formula. Also, at least one of the songs from The Hill, Buckner's musical adaptation of Edgar Masters' Spoon River Anthology, stood out like a beacon in the darkness. But the best song was the second set opener: a melancholy cover of Joe Jackson's "Breaking Us in Two." (Sadly, the crowd didn't seem to recognize it—they probably thought it was an unrecorded original.) It's not a good sign when a 20-year-old cover of a cult pop singer's minor hit is better than 90% of your own catalog.

Buckner is that rarity among hard-touring singer/songwriters: an artist who sounds better on record, where tight arrangements and strong producers rein in his tendency to ramble. Not that the audience thought he was rambling, as most of the songs were enthusiastically received, even hooted. If Buckner can sustain that kind of connection to his fans, more power to him. After a week like this one, it's difficult to argue with even the most mediocre show if it brings people together. Live music means sharing an often-spiritual experience with strangers, and in this suddenly more frightening world we need all the common experiences we can get. Michael Toland