Xavier Rudd at First Ave, or, It’s Nice to Have You Back, Sir.
The last time I saw Xavier Rudd, I wasn’t happy about it. I grumbled about it here, almost a year ago. Xavier is unfailingly amazing, but the crowd last year sucked. Just sucked. And on top of that, Xavier seemed like he was in a funk. He’d just released a much more personal, much darker album, and on stage he seemed just a bit out of sorts, like he wasn’t having the fun that he usually had with it, like whatever natural high he got from the recursive transfer of energy between himself and the crowd just wasn’t happening, or, perhaps more accurately, that the stuff he needed from the crowd to do what he does was not arriving. Xav was down, the crowd was an ocean of assholes, and I left feeling bad because he deserves better.
Cut to last night, Xav was back at First Ave. (a venue I have decidedly mixed feelings about, e.g., pretentious hipster crowd, but awesome, oiled-machine security dudes). I was worried about a repeat of last year’s downer, but right from the first note of the first song, it was apparent that Xavier was back in old form, perhaps better than old form. Playing with him were a drummer and a bass player from South Africa, and those three dudes were flat having a ball up on that stage, goofing around, giving each other fist bumps and playful jabs, smiling like crazy, taking older songs off into ten-minute jammy tangents. Xav blew into those didges and strummed those guitars with what seemed a renewed sense of purpose, as if the darker album and tour had cleansed something out of him, and now all the good stuff was free to backfill. The energy was there, the crowd was great, Xav was having a ball, and I left just feeling good. I think Xav is one of of the best, more positive things going in music right now, and last night he proved it. More than once, he deflected the audience attention away from himself and onto the two very talented musicians playing with him–the word gracious came to mind. Xav’s just a dude who loves to get up that and do what he does, and each time I’ve seen him–even that show last year–I’ve had the sense that I was watching a guy who was doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.
After the show, they played Bob Marley over the house speakers, and in every stall in the men’s room, all the dudes were singing along to “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright.” One guy, his words slurred with beer, announced, “Hey, if any of you are worryin’ about some shit, stop it. Bob says so.”
But as borderline cliche as that sentiment is, walking out of a Xav show, three so far, usually finds me feeling like, in spite of all the shit, things are gonna be cool, daddy-o.
