Getting Bluesy and Peculiar with John Sebastian

Tupelo Music Hall, White River Junction 11/28/10

What happens to a first-wave pop-rock guru, a Beatles contemporary, who goes on to have his own tie-dyed career, later to proclaim the virtue of the jug band, having penned unprecedented and goofy tunes such as "Rainbows All Over Your Blues?" From beneath some flat stone did crawleth John Sebastian on Sunday night, all the way to Vermont, bringing with him two guitars (an incredible hollow-body Guild), a Fender Jazz Chorus amp, and his own problematic Audix microphone. Former Lovin' Spoonful frontman and songwriter Sebastian wore black and gray, his mop of thin, nearly-white hair kept from his eyes by trademark spectacles: from beneath these came "You Didn't Have to Be So Nice," "Nashville Cats," "Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?," and so many other anthemic themes relegated to oldies radio. Famously, John Sebastian forgot his own lyrics onstage at Woodstock; he forgot no lyrics on this cold night at the Tupelo, but danced around the stage in a novel, professional, entertaining way: one that made the slender, gaining-on-antique audience almost not notice that Sebastian was picking a solo along with the band playing only in his head.

Picking was the main verb, over singing or strumming: Sebastian played the whole show with a thumb pick, stopping once to file his nails, even. In the style of Mississippi John Hurt, Sebastian used his guitar diligently, skillfully-- far more adept and off the cuff than I had imagined. A keen sense of the beat may be Sebastian's biggest strength, as a performer: every song deserved at least a gentle foot tap (including the bluesy set closer "Tap That Thang"), and I don't think anything was in three-quarter time. Through playing a lullaby written for his son, and a few tunes written with David Grisman for a 2007 album, Sebastian had moments of guitar proficiency akin to some of Paul Simon's complex patterns on a fingerboard: the way a few minor key changes in "Daydream" were played blew me away (a song written, interestingly enough, in response to being the Supremes' opening act in 1965, and the influence of a 'straight-8' beat in pop music. Sebastian laughingly admitted "Daydream" sounds nothing like a straight-8 Motown beat).

He has, however, lost some of his vocal range: one bluesy number made me think one of his few career moves left may be to pick up a banjo and go join Tom Waits' growing chorus of vintage wailers... and not only for his voice, but Sebastian picks guitar across mid-20th century genres as fine as just about anybody. Old-school pop-rock-folk supergroups aren't in vogue, but if they were, John Sebastian would serve well as the leader of some new legion of lyrical potential. One of his best tunes, aside from having an unfortunate tagline and title ("Strings of Your Heart"), was written as the theme for a television show about guitars... which was canned before it went to production, Sebastian admitted. Quick wisps of high feedback plagued his storytelling, by no fault of Tupelo's top-notch crew: there were three times that his narratives elicited no reaction from the crowd at all, not even a laugh-- one was something about tuning a guitar, and how someone said "don't tune, ever," and he lifted his guitar tuner and said, "look, see, this is all you need!" It was likely weird babble over any reasonable metaphor; then back to picking something relatively interesting. After dispensing a requisite number of hits, Sebastian moved the crowd through one patternful number after another.

Particularities and peculiar (and faulty?) proprietary gear aside, it was a treat to see John Sebastian: I found his "Cheapo-Cheapo Productions Presents Real Live..." album at a yard sale when I was fifteen, and marveled at his ability to persuade and lead a full audience through the whimsy of the less-than-serious song. After seeing him live in 2010, I might assume how that end of life holds less, if not a different brand, of whimsy: after an introductory John Hurt number, Sebastian reflected on his five summers at a summer camp outside of Keene, New Hampshire, and how he was thrust before a crowd of seven-year-olds and told to entertain them, to make up songs and to get them to sing. Later, in describing how he plays songs for his kids, he reiterated his thesis: aim to entertain children and you'll seldom go wrong.