Johnathan Bree
Shilpa Ray
Andrew Sa
Sleeping Village
October 27th
Jonathan Bree / all đź“· : Tina Mead
This Sleeping Village show featured three vintage vocalists unconcerned with current trends in music. Their performances felt like pure expressions of who they are and experimentations with how to go about that.
The evening began with Chicago performer Andrew Sa gracing us with his incredible voice that’s classically beautiful, harkening back to an era when radio was king. Even the guitarist, John Huber, was rapt, watching him intently as he strummed. Sa was generous with his band, thanking them and asking them to take a solo from time to time. Jeremy Jon played keys, feeling the room and the music. Sa had exquisite control of his tone and vibrato, and seemed to hold the silent audience spellbound one person who said, “You’re adorable!” It might seem like an odd thing to say to a grown man, but he told a story of singing for his mom’s karaoke audiences as a kid. It was hard not to imagine a young precocious Sa belting out Patsy Cline as he sang “She’s Got You” and “Crazy.” His renditions of the classics were flawless and completely satisfying. Sa’s original compositions were also well worth a listen. His closing song was my favorite of his set. He told us “Gorgeous Things” was about eye fucking. That slight juxtaposition between his classically beautiful voice and his irreverent personality is what really made his performance a pleasure.
The squeeze box Shipla Ray played was front and center and demanded attention. It looked like it should be part of a magician’s act. You just don’t see them very often, so itset a tone that something special was going to happen. The first song started with a bouncing note on the keys. “Burning Bride” made the beauty of Ray’s voice immediately clear as she belted strong and true. Deep and resonant and a timbre that pulled at my gut. Then on bridge to the second verse we got the squeeze box. It didn’t have the breathing sound of an accordian. Ray had to quickly squeeze the bellow to keep a steady reedy tones running under her vocals. That quick squeezing was in visual opposition to the long notes it played and the slow beat of the song. But the sound was completely complementary to her voice. After the haunting beauty, the second song “Moshka” showed off Ray’s edge. She growled her way through the song filled with anger and protest. Racism. Sexism. Religion. They are all on blast in a song that gets Ray screaming over the smooth notes of the squeeze box. My favorite song of the set had to be the new, currently unreleased, “Manic Pixie Dream Cunt.” (Although you can watch a bootleg of a performance on YouTube.) As she charged through the song, the energy made the audience shout out with joy. As Ray concluded her set, she gave a perfect example of how her lyrics can be simultaneously weird and clever and charming- “I hope you burn from your eczema.”
The visual of Jonathan Bree’s performance was beyond striking; the first couple songs were just an indistinguishable, pleasant undercurrent while I adjusted to the figures and projections and movement. Even as Bree stood out with his natural magnetism, he could melt away. The faceless performers were interchangeable and anonymous. There were a few moments when one or the other of the two femme figures sang or played bass, but for the most part they danced in unison the entire show. The videos were occasionally abstract, but they mostly showed figures much like the ones performing on stage. Coming time and again to a kind of exercise class doing the same dance moves as the dancers on the stage. But the real backbone of the show was Bree’s voice. A deep resonance expressing melancholy and soothing the listener. One of the most striking songs of the night was “Valentine,” where the space in the composition allowed his voice to ring out. He sang of romance and he crumpled rose petals, throwing them into the audience. The fresh smell of it washed over us. It was heavenly. I didn’t need any of the visuals. Another pure moment came when Bree began “There is Sadness,” acapella. But it was that ending song. It might be the best song on his latest album and the perfect note to end on. “Fuck it” drove home the nameless, faceless interchangeable way we can sometimes treat eachother when we forget to see the individual and only think about getting what we want. “When our eyes meet, there's no poetry, no symphony; it's only lousy infidelity. Fuck it, Fuck her, Fuck him, Fuck it.” Does it really matter who is playing the drums or singing the song? As long as we are entertained. But maybe that’s taking the presentation of the performance too seriously. Fuck it.
