•
Rating: Dear Jack,
after following you for just over a year, I finally had the chance to see you live on Saturday, when you came down to my city for the first time. It seems automatic to address you informally; I now understand the tone of the reviews that led me to discover you, right here on DeBaser. The atmosphere was indeed like a beach bonfire: when I arrived at the Capannelle hippodrome, I found dozens of young people crowded under the stage, some dressed as surfers (who knows if it's due to attitude or simply because it's extremely attractive as an aesthetic and philosophy), most of them Americans like you. At times, it felt like being at some gathering on the west coast, with that light summer breeze in the air and the sunset sun, only the sound of the sea was missing. Seeing how many people were there to see you, I thought you were a lucky guy, Jack, talented and lucky. I know that on the other side of the ocean, you don't believe much in luck, but considering that you sometimes ponder life in your songs, I feel compelled to say that much of human affairs is also luck. For example, I would also love to live a "slow" life and always be as chilled as you, because it's so cool, as your fans rightly know, but the Lord did not grant me to be born among the waves of Hawaii; I am from Rome, and it is there that I fight all day in its traffic. But mine is not envy; in fact, I truly admire you and wish you even more success because you deserve it and because I know it hasn't always been roses and flower garlands for you either.
I wanted to thank you starting with the guest you chose to open the concert. On stage, there was only a chair, a microphone stand, two guitars, and a ukulele, and when that petite and shy girl sat down, none of us expected what she would do shortly after. I had only heard of her, Kaki, but I couldn’t grasp what she was capable of: as soon as she put her hands on the guitar, we were all left speechless. I had never seen anyone, not even in videos, play the guitar in such a way; she seemed like an alien. My amazement was such that I was mesmerized, following those fingers striking the strings on the fretboard, as if she were playing a psaltery. But it wasn't just her unusual technique: it was also the atmosphere and melody. My attention was captured, and I could only feel that this had to be the evening's climax. How was it possible to offer more? You know, I’ve seen quite a few concerts recently, but none gave me the same sense of wonder and gratitude as that jewel of half an hour. I found it almost metaphorical that there were barely fifteen hundred of us to enjoy such a show. Friends speak of us, and if you have chosen her to open the evening, well, that says a lot already.
Are you allergic to dust by any chance? While we were waiting for you, there was a man on stage who kept vacuuming the carpet and polishing your guitars and piano. In front of me, four well-fed American women were noisily drinking, having consumed hectoliters of beer, and beyond count the glasses from which they were guzzling. Meanwhile, people had arrived, and yes, now there was a crowd. Then, at fifteen to nine, you appeared on stage, punctual. You took the red electric Gibson and launched into "You and Your Heart" amidst the cheers of your adoring fans, accompanied by bass, drums, and piano. You played well, and your songs, those little gems that rarely exceed three minutes, called to each other. Thus followed, among others (because you know, many of the thirty-plus you played I didn't know, and some titles escape me, others I'm sure I mix up. But I'll catch up, I promise) "Taylor," a goosebumps-worthy version of "Go On," "The Horizon Has Been Defeated," "Inaudible Melodies," "Sitting, Waiting, Wishing," "Upside Down," and the many you often put together in medleys.
And what about your stage companions? So funny, starting with Zach, who, besides playing the piano, did backing vocals for you and at one point got up to sing the finale of "Wasting Time," then took the accordion to accompany you on "Belle" and "Banana Pancakes." It was beautiful that you dedicated my favorite song, "Constellations," to that old friend of yours from Bologna, or when Marlo set down the bass to launch into a spontaneous rap at the end of "Staple it Together." Or again when from your latest album you pulled out the coolest track, that "Red Wine, Mistakes Mythology," a jam rock that entertained us to our screams. And then when you invited Kaki on stage, and with slide and ukulele, you performed “Breakdown,” it was as if you were old friends.
You're not that good at acting; indeed, nobody believed you while you were saying goodbye and leaving the stage. But don't worry, it's also for this reason that your fans love you. We called you back loudly, and after two minutes, there you were, this time alone. You picked up the acoustic guitar and gifted us the last four pearls: “Times Like These,” “Gone,” “Do You Remember,” and to close, “Better Together.” And there, yes, you really said goodbye, leaving us with a sense of serenity that still lasts now as I write to you.
You brought a bit of the ocean into our lives, and if the effect is to slow down one's pace, to slow down, and to look at things with a bit more trust, well, come back soon.
Yours, Bartok
Loading comments slowly
