w/ Landon Pigg
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Berbati's Pan
Portland, OR
8pm (doors open at 7pm). All Ages.
$13.00 advance tix from TicketsWest.
$15.00 at the door.
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Erin McCarley calls the music on her debut album, Love, Save the Empty, a document of her search for authenticity in herself and in others. If that sounds heavy, there's a reason why: According to McCarley, "Loving You" is about "being honest at the beginning of a new relationship and saying, 'I have nothing left to give,' to this amazing person standing right in front of me." "Sleepwalking" profiles a cynic that can't hear it come back his own way. For the title track, McCarley was inspired to write a song about the effects stemming from a lack of role models in a parentless world. And yet the 11 songs collected here (songs that ignited an industry-wide frenzy when McCarley performed them at SXSW earlier this year) pull off the trick that all great pop performs: They do heavy philosophical lifting with a lightness that boosts the spirit. This is elegantly crafted, deeply melodic music that resounds with echoes of the Beatles and Aimee Mann, Alanis Morissette and Amy Winehouse.
McCarley grew up in the Dallas suburb of Garland, where she says her parents couldn't have done a better job raising her and her older sister. "It was a very happy home with very little pain to deal with," she explains, describing days filled with dance class and choir rehearsal. In a way, though, her ideal childhood led to an unexpected wake-up call later in life. "It kind of gave me an unrealistic view of everything," McCarley notes with a laugh. "That's not how the world is, you know?" In McCarley's music you can hear her charting the distance between fantasy and reality, as well as the heartbreak that inevitably accompanies its discovery.
McCarley's brand of honesty doesn't come without the occasional flash of regret. "I've looked back at some of these songs recently and thought to myself, 'Are you serious? I can't believe I put that out there!'"
Near the top of the list of McCarley's favorite artists are names like Fiona Apple, Patty Griffin and Greg Laswell (the latter of whom co-wrote "Bobblehead"). "I just love how true and raw their lyrics are," she explains. Listening to records by these musicians is more than enjoyable for McCarley--it's inspiring. "I get one line into one of their songs and I have to stop and write my own," she says. McCarley singles out her favorites' unique phrasing, the way they've taught her to concentrate not only on her words but on her delivery. "Their lyrics are that much more powerful because of the way they sing them."
McCarley currently calls Nashville home, but she cut her musical teeth in San Diego, where she'd moved after college to pursue a life that didn't feature music at its center. During her undergraduate days she'd spend weekends singing with a country cover band for extra cash, yet in San Diego, selling clothes in a boutique and hanging out on the beach, she began thinking not just like a singer, but as a songwriter, which satisfied a different artistic jones. "Once I discovered songwriting it became an addiction," she says now, remembering countless days she spent holed up in her house from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., doing writing exercises (and staring at the wall) while wearing the same pair of linen pants. "Most nights I'd end up with an unfinished song. But when the day would come when all the pieces would align, and I'd know this is a song for people to hear, there is no better release in the world. Those are some of the only times that I can go out at night or sit on the couch next to my loved ones and feel at peace--like, 'Job well done.' I can rest, at least for a second." It was during this bout of creativity that McCarley met producer/writer/keyboardist Jamie Kenney (the rare partner she felt 100 percent comfortable with), and the two began honing the songs that would make up Love, Save the Empty.
"It's hard for me to write about being happy," McCarley admits. "I don't prefer being sad, but it's a real spot for me. If you met me, I'm not this dark, sulking person, though I'm not bubbly by any means, either. I guess it comes down to the fact that I'm not afraid of being sad.
Love, Save the Empty arrives this fall on Universal Republic Records. McCarley will spend the summer laying the groundwork for the album's release with a pair of tours. Her goal an artist is as simple--and as profound--as they come. "When I'm onstage," she says, "I'm trying to communicate with every single person out there."
LANDON PIGG
Ask Landon Pigg about his formative years and he'll be the first to tell you he escaped from the clutches of normalcy. He tends to get a nosebleed more often than most, but he likes it when life happens naturally, and for him, it has seemed to flow that way from his very first day -- August 6th, 1983. Born in Nashville, TN, he moved to Chicago as a child and it was there he learned to appreciate that flow; to read and write and ride a bike, and eventually, to have that bike stolen by a gang of ruffians from the city along with other typical childhood setbacks and milestones.
Soon, back to Nashville it was, where Landon applied himself to more benign interests such as Algebra and Chemistry and -- lucky for everyone who has heard his debut RCA album, LP -- Music - learning to make his own sounds as he began to rifle through the wonders of his dad's record collection.
It was Landon's father, a studio veteran himself, who encouraged Landon's musical curiosity, as Landon recalls 'Ray Stevens being the first CD I ever owned.' Pretty soon Landon was unearthing his own musical breadcrumb trail -- David Mead and Rufus Wainwright who showed him the beauty of a melody; Bands like Radiohead helping to etch a deeper emotion into his songwriting; Masterworks from groups such as Led Zeppelin and the Beatles imbuing in him both the love of a creative turn of phrase and a knack for writing indelible hooks. And there's no denying the upper register of Harry Nilsson floating around somewhere amid Landon's creations, completing a patchwork topography of the singer/songwriter's musical exoskeleton that pop writer Nick Hornby would be proud of.
Landon also credits his mother for nurturing his poetic side. For the record, she still sends him words of wisdom meant to buoy one's strength on those days where the setbacks seem to outnumber the milestones. 'And' -- laughs Landon, 'she still cuts my hair.'
With all these threads in hand, Landon Pigg has fastened together his own mercurial outlook on life which he effortlessly and magically captures on his debut album. Yet, he'll also be the first to tell you it does no good to equate all these disparate strands with 'figuring him out.' Those who try to solve him like a puzzle end up confused. He likes to keep his thoughts to himself. Likes to keep even 'himself' guessing. Fortunately, a faithful listen to his new CD reveals he's really not that different from any of us. The songs, which Landon says are 'about things like losing love and finding hope -- about how life will start to make sense and then stop again,'- reflect an uncanny ability to cobble his own confusion into unforgettable music.
Guided by a host of maverick producers, Dan Brodbeck (Dolores O' Riordan), Paul Ebersold (3 Doors Down), and Clif Magness (Avril Lavigne, The Calling), he fuses his own raw edges into subtle and rollicking pop gems, like the plaintive 'Sailed On,' or the sparse but scrappy 'Last Stop,' which brandishes ripe examples of what can only be described as musical Pigg-speak -- 'I pick up all the pieces of the chords I didn't use...'.
The hint we've been waiting for about solving at least part of the musical puzzle?
'Maybe there is a naiveté in my approach,' he says. 'I never had a guitar lesson when I started out. I've always felt that when you don't learn all the rules you're much more inclined to break them with a smile.' Which dovetails nicely into another inclination of his: You might not always get to hear Landon speak his mind -- but you'll always hear him sing it.
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