Review: 12 EASY SONGS at Joe's Pub – Not an Easy Sell, But Intriguing

And now for something completely different. That’s kind of expected when it comes to Theo Bleckmann and his history of eclectic projects and the genre-hopping he’s done as a singer and songwriter, on his own or with a myriad of collaborators. Past endeavors have found him dipping into songs ranging from the darkness of Kurt Weill to the sunshine of Mary Poppins, devoting a full-length album to the music of Charles Ives and another to Kate Bush’s oeuvre, bubbling through bebop duets with Sheila Jordan (a mentor) on her album Jazz Child and creating a piece for instruments, video, and sewing machines which were used on stage by three seamstresses in real time to make a suit out of paper— the pages of the libretto. His latest inspiration, a suite called 12 Easy Songs, is a commissioned work to put music to “found” writings, New York City’s overheard conversations, words on street signs, and even verbiage scrawled in graffiti. And then to sing it all — with instrumental passages, too. The performance was presented downtown, on the stage at Joe’s Pub, where I’d first seen Theo Bleckmann in a solo show years ago and again very recently as part of a jazz vocal group called MOSS, who made one CD together back in 2010; they reunite once every blue moon or so. With this and other works, the man’s voice – which can be hypnotically ethereal in his high range or contrastingly earthy — is the main attraction, beyond the admirably game adventurousness.

Can words scribbled on walls, printed on road signs, or barked into cell phones by passersby magically morph into intriguing listenable lingo that comes alive when paired with snatches of melody? Before I report on those chosen words, let me present some choice words from Mr. Bleckmann’s own explanation of his goals: 

“Anything and everything could serve as an actual text or become the departure point for a more narrative lyric. I want these songs to celebrate the diversity, absurdity, and poetry embedded in New York’s urban landscape through a melancholic and playful approach…. I want the pedestrian and mundane to be a porthole into the soul of culture; much like a supermarket in a foreign country that can show you the simple truth of its people… I am fortunate to bring this project to life through three extraordinary musicians: drummer and electronic musician Joe Branciforte, saxophonist Timo Vollbrecht and keyboardist Luke Marantz are the perfect musician/ composer/ improvisors who understand the delicate balance between honesty and absurdity, without irony.”

Well, certainly the instrumentalists were talented team players and their most artful sections between the blocks of the most banal vocabulary samples added welcome variety and feel. Comparatively speaking, they elevated the tone to elegance. When the language novelty might wear off and turn tedious and certain words would repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat, the best plan seemed to be to surrender to the oddity, accepting it on its own terms, and let the music and voice wash over me.  As far as patience and rewards, your mileage may vary. 

The lyrics, if we may call them that, were projected on a screen so we could follow along and sometimes see right away that one song would be just the same phrase over and over. Examples of that were selections that contained nothing more than all or part of the sentence “You will paint over me, but I will still be here” or “I don’t know where love comes from.” Admittedly, the expressed idea can stimulate thought and start to feel profound when heard so many times with few distractions.  A couple of pieces are collections of  statements printed, scribbled, or spoken – such as: the recorded warning on the subway “Stand clear of the closing doors!”; “Please be patient”; graffiti proclaiming that “Jesus saves” and “Greg is gay.”  How about a list of names of  streets in Brooklyn that becomes a sing-along when reprised? And somewhere somebody said or wrote the words of wisdom “Sometimes it’s better to want than to have” and the rueful “I should have kissed you longer.” 

These sung slices of life and swirls of sayings, droned or woven into music, with electronic echoes and loops added to some, often seemed — for lack of a post-1960s adjective — trippy.  Whether pulled in or reflexively pulling back, a listener may react as Alice did in Wonderland observing the unusual, as she often remarked to herself: “Curiouser and curiouser!”

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