Everyone's a Critic
The Observer's culture blog
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
LEO KOTTKE: ARCHITECTURAL SOUNDSCAPES, by Ray Chalmers
Informally surveying the line of patient Ark concert-goers in a drizzling October night revealed a number of experienced Leo Kottke viewers. Some were there for the stories, some were there for the singing, but it was beyond a given that all were there for the playing.
Taking the stage with six- and 12-string guitars in hand, Kottke acknowledged his introduction of his regular stop at Ann Arbor's intimate 400-seat listening room with a rueful grin and a muttered "Too close." Launching into the delicate "Ojo", Kottke stopped with a grimace 30 seconds in, saying "That's what I get for making eye contact. Over there."
Hiccups such as these at a Leo Kottke concert are not so much mistakes as more splashes of color on a sound canvas unique at each listening. At 69, Kottke's comfort on stage and comfort in his own skin is as much a presence as his musicianship. Duane Allman's "Little Martha" sang with a sweet innocence from veteran hands, while the dense 12-string "The Driving of the Year Nail" from his Takoma Records debut in 1969 was followed by a declarative "I was a whole other head back then."
Interlaced with stories about everything from best friends drinking their way into their third nursing home to Doc Watson's theory of guitar tuning, Kottke's songs, instrumental and sung, are short stories in themselves, stories read by a respectful crowd that turned each page with anticipation. Indeed, Kotke's soundscapes approach the architectural -- an as-yet unrecorded song from Kottke's new head conjures a vision of sitting in an underground bodega with a very attractive barmaid inquiring how you like the rioja; while a Bert Kaempfert instrumental was as clean '60s cool as a Mad Men cocktail party.
Chekhov famously advised: "Don't tell me the moon is shining: show me the glint of light on broken glass." A Leo Kottke ticket is a guided tour over a much-loved landscape with a tour guide you trust, who then slaps you a hard left and takes you someplace new.
Posted by John Hilton at 12:45 p.m. | 0 comments
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