It was a quiet evening at the on Tuesday night. As sat down to launch into “Tears and Saints,” there were about 25 people standing (and sitting) around the room, unsure of when or if they should start clapping. I’d find out most of them were from Nashville, Tyler’s base of operations. I took a seat between an older couple and a woman at the counter behind the pit, later revealed as Tyler’s girlfriend and parents.
The music was great. Both Tyler and Golden Eagle after him, a bass-heavy blues rock quartet, were tight, in key and on point. The light crowd played more to Tyler’s favor than Golden Eagle, obviously; rock bands are all about effusive energy, and though they themselves were in no short supply of it, there were only enough people in the house to power one, maybe two of the machines from “The Matrix.” (I would call spoiler alert, but at this point, if you haven’t seen “The Matrix” yet, well, .)
Tyler’s set was incredibly intimate, and though not the case for his bottom line, ideal for those who saw it in a few ways. There were no distractions, no drunk gentlemen yelling “WOOO!” over moments of pianissimo and a clear line of sight for all—not that there was much spectacle. On stage, it was just Tyler, about five unique guitars (each with its own string count and tuning, it seemed) and a veritable toy chest of noisemakers, tape recorders and music boxes that he’d hold up to the mic in his guitar to add ethereal effects. Occasionally, he’d stomp a looper to save and repeat a section of a song and build on, maybe running a violin bow over the strings for an accent. Little flourishes like this went a long way to add depth and intrigue to the set, which could have benefited from the auxiliary instrumentation heard in his albums.
But before any of that can happen, Tyler’s gotta get his name out there. You get the feeling it’s that sort of a tour for him: performing in a lot of far away places to too many half-empty rooms for the sake of trying to make it playing music. He’s paying his dues, something that every performer not hand-picked by Disney or has to endure in the formative stages of their career. After all, even Neo used to be plain old Mr. Anderson.
Setlist:
Tears and Saints
Hotel Catatonia
Country of Illusion
Missionary Ridge
Cult of the Peacock
We Can’t Go Home Again
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Dylan Owens is Reverb’s indie and bluegrass blogger. You can read more from him in Relix magazine and the comment sections of WORLDSTARHIPHOP.
