Chris Richards + Duane Jarvis

Hello, Hello, Hello, Is There Anybody in There? It has been my impression that any show in New York, if not packed to the gills, will at least be populated by one handful of the performer’s faithful fans, and another handful of moderately interested people. Granted, these shows tend to happen at well-known venues in the hippest neighborhoods, so the crowd is essentially built-in: put up a sign outside the Lower East Side’s Mercury Lounge and an attendance of at least 20 should be guaranteed. The performance space at Makor, a Jewish cultural center on the Upper West Side, by simple fact of its stuffy, un-hip location and lack of external advertising (no marquee, and it looks like a school building) would certainly draw fewer hipsters than its downtown counterparts but dear God, an emptier room was never seen for this first night of the ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers) songwriter series — the head count could not have been more than 10, including some of the musicians’ family members. Come on people, what else is there to do on a Monday night? You were probably at a flash-in-the-pan, ear-shattering rock act at any number of readily accessible venues in your neighborhood, groaning at the band’s neo-something affectation. But for the fairly reasonable fee of twelve dollars, had any of you attended, you would have enjoyed excellent performances from one burgeoning country-rock songwriter from Nashville via Wisconsin (Chris Richards), and a veteran roots rocker from Los Angeles via Nashville (Duane Jarvis). Makor might want to consider bolstering its promotional department a bit in the future. The young, shaggy-haired Chris Richards recently moved to Nashville from Los Angeles and the first strum from his guitar informs why. There are two Nashvilles nowadays, as Emmylou Harris spoke of in a recent Relix magazine interview: there’s the one housing Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, and Patty Griffin, and then the radio-ready, big bucks Nashville. Richards belongs to the former, which focuses more on traditional, rootsier arrangements and more emotionally complex songwriting — if you define country music by the likes of “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”, this is not the Nashville for you. As traditional as Richards’ country-rock sounds, he also offers glimpses of his modern influences. One song featured a mandolinist plucking what sounded like the Sonny Bono-penned “Needles and Pins”, hip-ified by the Ramones in 1978. The road-weary “Motel Time Again” was dedicated to the Howard Johnson’s around the corner, which, the band discovered on this particularly sticky New York night, had no air-conditioning. “Jam the Breeze” is, conversely, an exaltation of life on the open road, recalling a bit of the Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin’ Man” and, as the title suggests, is a nice slice of guitar jamming. Consistent with Richards being part of the “other” Nashville is “Nashville Gas”, a tribute to those musicians who don’t follow the flashy, big-studio trends. Covers of songs by rowdy bar-country-blues singer Bobby Bare and legendary Nashville songwriter Harlan Howard further proved Richards’ country cred. His band is made up of Nashville session men so the musicianship was first-rate. His vocal delivery on the other hand, twangy only when absolutely necessary, is steady to the point of monotony. Even the rowdiest of tunes were tautly delivered, his gaze unflinching. Singing to a predominantly empty room could certainly have been a factor but a little more enthusiasm would have gone a long way. But when the music’s as fun as it was, the transgression is forgiven. Duane Jarvis, back in Los Angeles after years in Nashville, might be best known to country-rock fans as the co-writer of “Still I Long for Your Kiss” off Lucinda Williams’ 1998 hit album Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, but in addition to his writing he’s earned the recognition of musicians for his exceptional guitar-playing. And indeed, it is something to behold. The sounds Jarvis coaxes out of his instrument have a voice of their own. His own singing voice is deep and husky — a bit of a surprise coming from his slight, darkly clad frame. But this guy’s got soul to spare. He began his set with the Carter Family tune “Worried Man Blues”: an acoustic, whisper of a song that resonated with the affecting, yet ultimately uplifting starkness of the original. It was as if Jarvis was showing us what a rock song was like in its most primordial state, just an unpolished voice and a guitar, before showing us what he was really capable of. His cadence on the bouncy “Squeaky Wheel” echoed the suburban, boyish tone of Lou Reed — or was it Pete Seeger? A bit of both, oddly enough. This led to the grinding electric guitar and mouth harp of the fantastic blues-rock tune “Prodigal Daughter”. But Jarvis’ music is informed by far more than just blues and country: “Coulda Shoulda Woulda” was built on a guitar lick he said was lifted from a Jackson Five hit. His “East Houston version”, as he put it, of “Still I Long for Your Kiss” brought the house down — all seven occupants (by this time even some family members had departed). But the abysmal attendance did not dampen Jarvis’ spirits one bit and he continued to play as if the place was bustling. I could almost make out the echoes of clinking glasses and mumbled chatter with every strum and howl. In the end I was the one who made out like a bandit, having received what was essentially my own private show. This music series happens every Monday night during the month of August so one can only hope that the next installment will lure some folks away from the dark recesses of downtown clubs and their nearby falafel stands, way up to the shiny Makor digs on West 67th Street, mere feet from Café des Artistes — I hear they love late-night revelers with the munchies. Just make sure to wear your dinner jacket over that Whitesnake T-shirt.