I don't think us newspapers writers are still allowed to use expletives in our write-ups, even when they only appear on the blog. But if I could, I'd use a few to describe how (---) wild and at times (---) beautiful Vic Chesnutt's concert was last night at the Cedar Cultural Center. And (---!), that guy writes some twisted and evocative songs, most of which Thursday came off his last two albums, "At the Cut" and "North Star Deserter."
A band befitting his odd-duck nature, Chesnutt's six-member backing unit featured Fugazi's Guy Picciotto on staticky guitar and the adventurous innovators from Montreal's Silver Mt. Zion (and formerly God Speed You! Black Emperor). Together with Vic's own coolly rustic acoustic guitar work, the group alternately sounded like a stormy out-to-sea ensemble a la Nick Cave's Bad Seeds or like a gorgeous baroque Southern orchestra a la Chesnutt's pals Lambchop. They kept up a lilting, light, folky sound until suddenly kicking in with a boom midway through the second song, "Everything I Say," turning it into a frenzied rocker. The new cut "Phillip Guston" was darkest of all, sounding downright grungey.
As impressive as the loud and heavy stuff was, I still preferred the rawer and stripped-down sound of songs such as"Chain" and "You Are Never Alone," whose weird references to condoms and abortions belied its strange beauty. The climax of the show was probably "Flirted," which the band turned into a spacey, organ-filled gem. Chesnutt himself seemed to be in good spirits, save for a scary encounter he had with some surgical-mask-wearing passengers on his plain-ride into town, which had him worried about the omnipresent flu bugs. "I was giving my blood a pep talk: 'Come on, white blood cells, kick their ass,'" he cracked. Hey, that's his cuss word, not mine.
