Live Review: Gary Clark Jr, Spookyland

Austin, Texas’ Gary Clark Jr is on the kind of hot streak musicians rarely even dream about. His popularity has risen as fast as the accolades have piled up, and the professional respect he has garnered is envious. And with good reason: he is one of rock’s brightest young stars (some say saviour), and his technical excellence is matched only by his natural feel for what he plays. The House was lucky to host him and the crowd welcomed him with open arms.

Recent Inertia acquisitions Spookyland opened, their rusty buzzsaw blues making great use of the cavernous space. Band leader Marcus Gordon has a voice akin to The Walkmen’s Hamilton Leithauser, perhaps after a big (big) night, and his plaintive keening was oddly moving. Their pulsing riffs sounded ten times bigger in the Hall, and their powerful Americana sound felt restless and cagey.

Amidst cool blue hues and clouds of smoke, Gary and co. took the stage. Gary checks in at almost six and a half feet tall, and with his flat brim fedora and long coat, all he was missing was a six shooter at his hip and a toothpick between his lips to complete the image of a cowboy without a horse. Rhythm guitarist King Zapata wore a huge flat brim tillman hat and a sleeveless vest, and cut an imposing figure bathed in low light with shadows across his face.

Opening with Bright Lights, the generous two hour set was a galvanising experience. Clark’s preternatural sense of timing, pathos and style meant his solos felt like jumper cables hooked up to your pleasure centres. They weren’t flashy technical demonstrations, they had context and elegance. Hemingway would have appreciated his uncanny ability to get right to the point without pretense or junk noise. Everything that came off the fretboard sounded sublime, from the finger-pickin' freight train of Don’t Owe You A Thang, the breezy R&B tune The Life, stomping soul number The Healing to the snarling blues rock of When My Train Pulls In. Quieter numbers like doo wop ballad Our Love and closing urban hymn Church felt like tiny miracles, beautiful expressions full of warmth and tenderness that showcased Clark’s voice as much as his guitar playing. 1950s time capsule escapee Leon Bridges joined him for a cracking gospel spanker and it was all just icing on a very rich cake.

It was an utterly superb and life affirming experience.