One of the things that immediately attracted me to M. Ward was his muscular guitar playing. Sure, he was sometimes lumped in with the early ’00s crop of sensitive male singer-songwriters dubbed emo, for the way they often wore their hearts on their sleeves. Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) and Sufjan Stevens and to some extent Jim James (My Morning Jacket) were the most frequent comparisons drawn, and Ward toured more than once with Oberst and James, calling themselves half-jokingly the Monsters of Folk. But although about half of his songs could be considered pensive and introspective, that’s not all Matt Ward is about.
For one thing, one of his idols was John Fahey, who made his name with a fierce brand of fingerpicked acoustic blues guitar playing, a style that Ward not only emulated but made his own. This year Ward co-produced a sterling tribute to fellow Oregonian Fahey, who died in 2001. For another, almost from the first, Ward has rocked a lot more than was immediately apparent from his records.
When he announced that he would end his summer-fall 2006 tour in Portland on a Saturday night in late September, I locked in the date. My excitement grew the more I listened to his current release, Post-War with its two-drummer attack added to all the usual M. Ward elements: great picking, both acoustic and electric, and strong songwriting, with catchy melodies and memorable lyrics. A few weeks before the show, it was moved from the 700-seat Aladdin Theater to the much bigger Crystal Ballroom — not my favorite Portland venue, but clearly the buzz was on and this could be a night to remember.
It was.
Portland musician and producer Mike Coykendall (“kirkendall”), backed by his band The Old Joe Clarks opened with a half-hour set of solid alt-country. Most of Ward’s albums have been recorded wholly or in part in Coykendall’s attic studio, and he also is the self-proclaimed oldest member of Ward’s road band. His voice is a very pleasing mid-range baritone, capable of soaring for high harmonies, and he plays piano as well as various guitars — a handy guy.
The only dark spot on an otherwise perfect night was the long delay between Coykendall’s set and Ward’s arrival — nearly an hour. That was quickly forgotten if not necessarily forgiven once things got moving. Several musicians finally drifted on stage and began playing a languid, jam-like introduction: Rachel Blumberg on drums and Adam Selzer on electric guitar (the duo play and record out of Portland as Norfolk and Western), plus Coykendall on bass and Jordan Hudson on vibraphone, all of which set up a Calexico-like feeling. Ward then ambled onstage and sat in a low chair front and center, and segued into Bowie’s “Let’s Dance,” from 2005’s *Transistor Radio*. [../cd/cd_mward_transistor.html] He followed immediately with yet another of those “emo” songs, “Undertaker” (*Vincent*), with its plaintive chorus of “but if you’re gonna leave me / better call the undertaker / take me under, undertaker / take me home.” It became apparent where this was headed when he launched into *Post-War*’s opening song, “Poison Cup,” which starts quiet and pensive and builds to a rousing climax. Sure enough, by the end of this one, Hudson had moved from the vibes to a second full trapset and Ward had kicked aside his chair, and was slashing at his guitar strings with controlled abandon.
From then on, it was a night of rock, with songs from all three of his most recent albums sharing nearly equal billing. All of his backing musicians played at least one other instrument — Blumberg singing and twice picking up a ukulele, and Selzer and Coykendall trading off on guitar and bass. Ward, who somehow can remain laid-back in his vocal delivery even in the midst of wild guitar freak-outs, took turns between a glittery solid-body and a warmer hollow-body electric, both equipped with a whammy-bar which he made liberal use of. In the regular set, from Transfiguration of Vincent he played “Helicopter”; from Transistor Radio “Four Hours in Washington,” and from Post-War “Right in the Head,” “Chinese Translation,” “Magic Trick” and the instrumental “Neptune’s Net.” To start the first encore, he played solo acoustic versions of “Duet for Guitars #3” (an adrenalin-stoked rendition) and the local favorite “Paul’s Song,” with its chorus of “every town is all the same / when you’ve left your heart in the Portland rain.” Then the band returned and Ward played (electric) piano on “Poor Boy, Minor Key,” and finished up with the definitely rocking “Flaming Heart.” On the second encore, the two drummers nearly brought down the house with their lightning-fast and thunderous stickwork on Daniel Johnston’s “To Go Home,” and the house lights came on after what may be Ward’s signature piece, “Vincent O’Brien.” It’s another one of those deceptively mellow-seeming songs, with pensive lyrics (“he only sings when he’s sad / and he’s sad all the time so he / sings the whole night through yeah / he sings in the daytime too”) but it has a soaring, anthemic chorus, complete with screaming guitars. Before this one was over, Ward and Selzer were face-to-face in the middle of the stage, wailing on their strings.
With this record and this tour, which has featured stops on at least two major late-night TV shows, Ward has indisputably moved into the top ranks of indie musicians. And from all indications, he’s not anywhere near done yet.
