American Music Club
8 out of 10 - Great. Good show.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Portland OR Doug Fir Lounge
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Watching Mark Eitzel writhe about wildly, tethered closely to his microphone is one of the least cynical things in rock music. It’s been that way for a long time.
In band formation, American Music Club, the San Francisco sourced outfit, he has released a steady stream of solid, if not spectacular records since 1991. Whether you choose to call it contemporary rock, or modern rock flavored with the raw aesthetic of punk and blues, AMC has amassed a strong cult appeal in spite of never making more than a tepid impact on college radio.
Whether you’re talking AMC or Eitzel-cum-solo artist, the brand of literate melancholy is one of the distinct constants for their front man. In Portland, Oregon, late on a spring Friday night, the nearly 50-year old front man (smooth head, bearded and as whiskey toned as ever) flaunts the type of energy fans half his age might otherwise ridicule all the while, his words and his songs are haunting. It’s an odd thing, to compel someone to listen closely to a somber bit of your melancholia, but Eitzel has made a living off of this for some time. He announces each song with a short story then breaks into his largely narrative songs, a la his contemporaries (oft compared to Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley, or most accurately, Vic Chessnutt). Some of the finer songs of the night’s 90-minute performance are “Windows On The World” and “The Sleeping Beauty”. The star though without much doubt is, “All The Lost Souls Welcome You to San Francisco.” It is the type of song emblematic of what Eitzel is. It’s plaintive, lost, thoroughly tinged with sadness, and a decided statement of his brass infused, sexy timbre.
The life of AMC has been tumultuous at best, with its spearhead coming sporadically. Known as a sometimes cathartic, often unpredictable in performance, Eitzel’s body in its perpetual bop and ping-pong course is enough upheaval for one night. Even a Friday – tonight, his voice is enough for the 30-something crowd. At a bar like the Doug Fir, the accepted antics are described best as pedestrian and the mercurial performer obliges that atmosphere. After two hours with bold cheers, and scattered unrequited requests for The Golden Age’s best song, “Who You Are”, he thanks the crowd, waves and politely takes his beer back stage before leaving.
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