I'm excited to get back to blogging, because I have a backlog of writing that I want to share. A recent Bon Iver concert at the Trabendo in the Parc de la Villette in Paris inspired me not only because the music was so beautiful and honest, but also because it reminded me of the José Gonzalez concert I saw at La Cigale in February which led to me writing the following review.
Holy José
There is an unexpected tension present at a José Gonzalez concert. The audience waits with baited breath for their hero to arrive onstage, each onlooker awaiting the coming of their singer/songwriter savior.
As José takes the stage, fans erupt into applause and fill the venue with the din of adoration until the guitarist settles into his chair. José Gonzalez doesn’t say much on stage, he communicates through beautifully honest and simple lyrics imposed on the music produced from the strumming and picking of wandering fingers over frets. Throughout his performance spectators try to capture moments of the performance in every way possible. Amateur and professional photographers wind their way through the crowd, trying to get close enough to the stage to shoot a decent photo with their cell phone or make their enormous zoom lenses seem unnecessary. Others film parts of songs, while some make hushed phone calls to friends so that they might share the experience.
In the middle of “Lovestain”, a heartbreaking love song which is obviously a favorite of the audience, a section of the crowd starts clapping along. An opposing faction begins making hushing noises. The clapping fades out and the tension again becomes evident. People have come like pilgrims to see José Gonzalez; they listen eagerly, and are disdainful of any interruptions. The song concludes and Gonzalez addresses the audience, “You can clap along to the next song,” he says, “but you have to clap the whole way through. No stopping in between.” The next song begins, and the crowd obediently follows orders, clapping in unison without missing a beat from the start to finish. The tension dissolves and the audience seems content. They came for a piece of José Gonzalez to call their own, and it turns out that Gonzalez and his guitar have a little something for everyone.
As José takes the stage, fans erupt into applause and fill the venue with the din of adoration until the guitarist settles into his chair. José Gonzalez doesn’t say much on stage, he communicates through beautifully honest and simple lyrics imposed on the music produced from the strumming and picking of wandering fingers over frets. Throughout his performance spectators try to capture moments of the performance in every way possible. Amateur and professional photographers wind their way through the crowd, trying to get close enough to the stage to shoot a decent photo with their cell phone or make their enormous zoom lenses seem unnecessary. Others film parts of songs, while some make hushed phone calls to friends so that they might share the experience.
In the middle of “Lovestain”, a heartbreaking love song which is obviously a favorite of the audience, a section of the crowd starts clapping along. An opposing faction begins making hushing noises. The clapping fades out and the tension again becomes evident. People have come like pilgrims to see José Gonzalez; they listen eagerly, and are disdainful of any interruptions. The song concludes and Gonzalez addresses the audience, “You can clap along to the next song,” he says, “but you have to clap the whole way through. No stopping in between.” The next song begins, and the crowd obediently follows orders, clapping in unison without missing a beat from the start to finish. The tension dissolves and the audience seems content. They came for a piece of José Gonzalez to call their own, and it turns out that Gonzalez and his guitar have a little something for everyone.
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