Cryptacize + Ben and Vesper - Middle East Upstairs (Cambridge, MA; June 11, 2008)

The night started off weird… and got progressively weirder.

Spitzer Space Telescope, the performing name of Boston-based Dan MacDonald, kicked off the evening with a one-man-band set of 60s inspired folk and foot-stompin’ pub-sing-alongs. With troubadour haircut and sensibilities, MacDonald doesn’t just tell stories; he spins epic tales of love lost, battles won, whiskey devoured, rainbows and unicorns—yes, unicorns—and “nightmares turned to gold.” Each tale is worthy of a beckoning introduction like MacDonald offered in “People of the Hills:” “Gather ‘round everybody, and I’ll tell you a little story about a green eyed boy and a quick, young lassie.”

Unicorns aside, the weird vibe came from MacDonald’s unceasing self-heckling throughout the show. Between and during songs he apologized for his bad jokes, his broken guitar strings, his false assessment of the weather. Recognizing that this was a talented young musician (like, underage young) working out new material, the handful of people in the room were gracious, forgiving and encouraging, but it wasn’t enough for MacDonald to relax. At one point he asked the sound engineer for reverb, which I mistook as “reefer,” and I thought, “Yes, please, give something to this boy!” Apparently disappointed at his set, MacDonald commented, “This isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.” It was kind of heartbreaking, ‘cause the kid’s good.

Further contributing to the weirdness, my husband recognized MacDonald as the host of a local radio show whose weak signal likely can only reach the weight room in the basement of the building where my husband works. Likewise, it’s the only station my husband picks up on his dime store radio. Fitting his quirky persona, I like to think that MacDonald rides up and down Comm Ave. in a horse and wagon, a microphone in his right hand and a transmitter in his left. After the show, MacDonald and my husband bonded over this. How these two lonely souls connected is an epic tale, so gather ‘round, everybody, and I’ll tell you a little story…

The second act, a husband and wife duo named Ben and Vesper, seemed likewise punchy. Trying to reach out to the somewhat lifeless crowd of a few dozen people, they offered up their drink tickets to any thirsty souls. As Ben threw the tickets in the air, they slowly fluttered down to the stage, failing to reach the crowd, nearly a metaphor for their sleepy, solemn keyboard/guitar duets that tell of heartbreak and disappointment. Having already seen Ben and Vesper perform a year ago at the same venue, I felt drawn to the abutting restaurant’s baba ghanoush, but returned in time for the headlining Cryptacize, a trio on the Asthmatic Kitty label.

Quick disclaimer: I honestly believe that Asthmatic Kitty mastermind Sufjan Stevens is a prophet sent to earth to teach me about the nature of God and mankind (I’m weird, too!). So when Sufjan says to pay attention to Cryptacize, which he recently did in a thoughtful piece on the Asthmatic Kitty website, I oblige. The off-beat minimalist style of Cryptacize is certainly not for everyone; because of my respect for all things Sufjan, I’m a bit biased to enjoy it.

Live, the trio stayed faithful to the studio recordings from their recently released LP Dig That Treasure. As on the LP, each individual sound, whether it’s made by guitar, drum, keyboard or voice, is distinct, precise and reserved. Cryptacize gives equal importance to these calculated sounds as to the moments of silence that separate them.

Singer Nedelle Torrisi offers a crystal clear, sweet, melodic and straightforward vocal. Cryptacize’s songs often slow down to allow Torrisi to deliver a decisive, declarative lyric, which is then punctuated by a crisp drum beat or a concise guitar chord. “We’re all in a cosmic sing-a-long.” Drum beat. “Sing along.” Chord. “No coins.” Twang. “We’ll never have any.” Thump. Throughout the set, the trio looked at each other, smiling as they signaled their synchronized sounds, enjoying each other and the self-aware levity of their songs’ simple melodies and subject matters.

But as a weird contrast to Cryptacize’s refreshingly sweet sound, the club increasingly smelled of shit as the evening progressed. And I don’t mean that metaphorically. From the stage, guitarist Chris Cohen shyly, earnestly announced “Um, we apologize, but there’s a sewage problem here.” Not that this comes as a surprise to anyone who has attended a show at Middle East Upstairs, but their sewer system was experiencing difficulties.

Pressed to attribute some significance to this contrast, I’d argue that perhaps it wasn’t weird, but in fact, reflective of the ephemeral nature of Crytacize’s music. “Every note is an unfinished song.” One note makes you dance. Another makes you cry. And another smells of feces. 

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