KT Tunstall

My daughter Keri took time out from her busy college and work schedule this week (Dad, there’s glitter all OVER my yard) to take me to the KT Tunstall concert at Lifestyles Community pavilion (The LC!).

From our second row seats, we had a good view of the opening act, Martha Wainwright, a Canadian-American singer-songwriter. Martha seemed like she was trying to be a more edgy version of Jewel, with her angst-driven lyrics and high-pitched, pleading voice.

Appearing in a short black tunic (See You Next Tuesday, anyone?) and thigh-high pink and white faux athletic socks with high heels, Martha begged someone in the audience to bring her a beer (one was delivered onstage) and suggested that people vote Democrat (the Toby Keith-ers in the crowd yee-hawed their disapproval). Since her Dad was Loudon Wainwright, I can begrudge her the angst.

Her voice, while charming and expressive, seemed oddly out of place when singing about a friend’s suicide. Her recurring between-song laments about being lonely on the road for so long, having no sex, and wondering if she was going to wake up the following morning naked and alone or if she was going to sex up a member of the stage crew suddenly made sense when she strummed along to I Know You’re Married But I Have Feelings Too. Her bio states that she’s wed to her producer, Brad Albetta.

Once Martha clonked offstage in her heels, KT Tunstall and her man-band took over, and the diverse crowd of teens, middle-aged couples, and marauding collections of women from 30-50 commenced to get down with their bad selves. Rare is it that a vocalist comes across as more powerful and heartfelt live than via recording, but KT blew us away, constantly in motion with a variety of guitars, her bluesy voice alternating between caressing our cheeks and slapping us upside the head.

From her older works (Black Horse & A Cherry Tree, performed solo until the last two minutes of the song, when her band returned to rock it home) to Hidden Heart, a haunting and mysterious ballad from her new album, KT and her all-testosterone band played the audience like a musical scale, taking us up and down and all around. Bass guitar gave way to a string bass for several songs, and the keyboardist also dug out a muted trumpet on occasion, and he pleased the crowd when he spent one tune playing a metal washboard shaped like a tie, hung around his neck in case we somehow missed the joke.

I'm not sure if you've ever been to one of those shows that afterwards you ask yourself why it is that you haven't seen that person live sooner, given than you have a pretty good collection of their albums, but I was posing that question in my mind. This was a seamless exhibition of music and lyrics, art and no-science, a decidedly no-frills event all wrapped up in a tiny Scottish-lilted package dressed in white.

The Midwestern crowd sat politely and appreciatively through the show, mustering enough energy to stand and dance only at the end. This was probably for the best, as Keri observed that “middle aged people dance funny”.

Yes, honey, yes we do. When I ordered us those Rolling Rocks, they were out of glucosamine and chondroitin.