Thursday, April 14
I have to confess to being a bit obsessed with both Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co.
When I first listened to Songs: Ohia’s final album, entitled “Magnolia Electric Co.” (yes, it’s both the album’s title and the moniker for ex-Songs: Ohia lead singer Jason Molina’s new band), I listened to the opening track, “Farewell Transmission” for hours on repeat. By the time I was done, my roommates were no longer speaking to me, but at least I had the altogether satisfying company of Molina’s voice.
Though the Museum of Fine Arts setting for their recent concert demanded a mostly seated and consequently sedate audience, the Co. delivered a terrific set lasting nearly two hours. They played tunes from Songs’ “Magnolia Electric Co.” as well as from “Trials and Errors,” their own sloppy, excessively-jam-oriented-but-lovable debut live album. Finally, they introduced a few “brand spankin’ new ones” as Molina declared, some of which were culled from their just-released studio album, “What Comes After the Blues.”
Molina’s songs aren’t technical masterpieces; they often consist of only three or four chords. Their beauty is simple, residing in the ethereal swoop of the slide guitar and the relentless emotional onslaught of the rhythm section. Listening to them is like riding a freight train with no brakes: there is a sense of unimpeachable momentum and force. When their songs demand it, each and every musician in Molina’s circle is more than able to play eloquent phrases.
Yet onstage, the Co. has a reserved presence. Guitarist Jason Groth—who supported Molina’s more vertical soloing with a chicken-pickin’ country feel and an insistent rhythmic sensibility—was the most animated as he pogo-danced around the stage. Keyboardist Michael Kapinus was an undeniably brilliant sonic colorist, his warm organ tones augmenting the guitars and lap steel.
Drummer Mark Rice was consistent and tasteful, occasionally punctuating a particularly heartfelt vocal embellishment or solo break with a concise, tight drum fill. Pete Schreiner’s bass complements Rice’s drum kit and his big, round bass tones help keep the band from floating into the jam netherworld.
Mike Brenner’s spiraling, squealing lap steel lines are entrancing; the sheer volume of emotion that he can coax from a simple wooden plank with six strings, a raised bridge, and a steel tone bar is amazing. Most importantly, he also found the perfect timbres to complement Molina’s voice.
And what a voice it is. It’s a tenor of sorts, less sweet than early Neil Young, but equally capable of expressing the whole spectrum of emotion. Molina has a boundless reservoir of feeling which he taps into on each of his songs.
A perfect example is in the song “The Farewell Transmission,” when Molina closes with the lyrics, “Through the static and distance, a farewell transmission: listen.” In this passage, you can hear his voice nearly break with seemingly genuine exhaustion and desperation. It’s this sheer channeling of raw emotion that makes singers great: Dylan, Jim Morrison, Jeff Tweedy.
I defy anyone to listen to Molina’s voice, tremulous with effort and feeling as it soars: “See I nailed my guilt to the back of my eyes so I see it now before the sun / Now who was I, now who am I, lord, what have I done?”
For unfettered expression, no one can beat these guys. In every guitar solo, chord change, lap steel fill, drum break, bass riff or vocal line, you’ll find something captivating, some kind of enchanting musical moment.
And when you find it, I guarantee you’ll rewind and listen to it again, and again. Just try not to forget your roommates.
—Staff writer Nathaniel Naddaff-Hafrey can be reached at nhafrey@fas.harvard.edu