Live Review: Kevin Morby, Waxahatchee

In the early evening in the aftermath of summer’s first proper scorcher, Alabama’s Waxahatchee and Texas’ Kevin Morby closed out their joint Antipodean tour with a well-received set in The Studio, deep within the cool, dark belly of the Sydney Opera House. Both revealed surprising truths about their talents on stage, with the two of them shedding their bands and choosing to face the crowd alone with guitars and a baby grand. For Waxahatchee (aka Katie Crutchfield) it was reaching back into familiar territory (solo folk material was how the Birmingham native cut her teeth), and to a lesser extent so too for Morby, an old workhorse for freak-folk outfit Woods. 

Crutchfield has found new inspiration and well-deserved attention riding (leading?) the wave of female-driven post-grunge rock, and it was in The Studio that it felt obvious that the best aspects of her Waxahatchee work involves the thumping urgency of a rhythm section and the soothing fuzzy drone of a distortion pedal. Without them, she sounded sleepy, and where repetitive passages can become hypnotic when draped in fuzz, here they sounded a little empty and light. Sparks Fly and Recite Remorse were great, no doubt, and her voice is beautiful, with small trills and agile little undulations stirring the heart, but there was a spark missing.

Kevin Morby is a natural performer. The nonchalant way in which he approaches his sometimes eerie material is fascinating. This stripped-back format worked in his favour, with just himself and his electric, wandering through his own dimly lit scenes with his cryptic lyrics and Dylan-esque vocal style. The strange, dream-like Harlem River floated across the vacuum, and the anthemic Parade took on a reverential tone. The melancholy musings of Ferris Wheel broke some hearts, the tiny glittering punctuations on the Yamaha trying in vain to counteract the sad weight of his voice. 

The duo came back with the best part of both their sets, with a gorgeous Dylan cover, It Ain’t Me, Babe, and a lovely version of Jason Molina’s The Dark Don’t Hide It. The final song was Morby's meditative protest song Beautiful Strangers, and to hear him fold Crutchfield’s delicate lilting tone over his was unforgettable. It felt transcendent, a moment of sanity and calm held up like an umbrella for us to hide under as we wait for the bin fire that is 2018 to finish.