“We’re definitely becoming experts at Pricelining,” exclaimed the skinny and jubilant from the stage at on Wednesday. “Come talk to me after the show, and I’ll show you how … we’re staying (in Denver) for about $38 tonight!” The quote was a perfect representation of the musician’s strong D.I.Y. aesthetic, and it set up the small crowd that had gathered to hear him with a quick and hilarious brain flex.
As Vanderslice and his only accompaniment — multi-instrumentalist (and veritable superhuman multi-tasker) Jason Slota — played an hour-long set, Vanderslice never appeared the least bit out of place or timid. Rather, he was at home on the stage as if we had walked into his Tiny Telephone studio in San Fransisco on any afternoon and happened to catch he and Slota passing time via music.
There were a few furtive, and then jocular, glances between the two from time to time as they poured through newly created arrangements, noting a few forgivable slip-ups. Vanderslice switched between his Telecaster and an acoustic for different songs, and played with delays, loops and a synthesizer as he sang. Slota played a full trap set, glockenspiel and Moog (for bass) — simultaneously, and masterfully.
The duo played familiar songs like “Kookaburra,” “Continuation” and “Lay Down” with warmth, comfort and easy joy. The recorded versions — characteristically close, analog, sincere — don’t approach these live performances. The sound filled the small room like a mist that shimmered as it reached my skin, and it hung up in the curved cartilage of my ears for a time after it had stopped on the stage.
After a while up on the stage, the pair unplugged and, guitar and floor tom in tow, moved into the middle of the crowd to perform a few more songs. The attempt at an even more intimate show, according to Vanderslice, was a “…recreation of a show we played in 2007, where the venue’s power went out.” They played three songs in the midst of the crowd, now tightly packed around a small oval of space, as Vanderslice walked around the circle. His playing and singing was unfortunately all but inaudible for anyone not within a foot or so of him, mostly drowned out by the floor tom. As they did “White Dove” and closed with “Time To Go,” the crowd made up for his dwindling volume by singing along, loudly, before exploding with applause.
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Billy Thieme is a Denver-based writer, an old-school punk and a huge follower of Denver’s vibrant local music scene. Follow Billy’s explorations at , and his giglist at .
