Yesterday evening my dear friend Rachel offered me a free ticket to see William Fitzsimmons at the Crescent Ballroom. I was familiar with his name, but had never really listened to his music before. Never one to turn down an opportunity for live music, especially when it is at my favorite music venue in Phoenix, and most especially when given a free ticket, I happily accepted.
As a gesture, I offered to make Rachel dinner. 'Twas a Gnocchi Disaster.
Moving forward.
We arrive and the area that is usually wide open for dancing and overall revelry was sparsely situated with tables and a few chairs. That was our first tip off that this was not the kind of rowdy concert you want to stand for. William Fitzsimmons would agree. It's far more comfortable to cry while in the seated position.
People were standing along the edges, trying to appear as if they were not annoyed at their not having a seat. Women of action, we spotted two unoccupied chairs, asked the folks near them if they were available, got the two free chairs in question and sat in them. The standing herd looked at us with a little bit of envy as our legs dangled freely from the highly set chairs. The hipsters, with their feigned nonchalance (now laced with desperation), were telling us with their eyes that asking if a chair is open is too mainstream.
The opening act was a brother sister duo that I actually saw perform in Spokane a few years ago. They said they lived in Seattle, but I (and everyone who refers to Wiki for sound information) knew their secret; they were from Centralia,Washington—the Eastern and exponentially less cool part of the state. Noah & Abbey Gunderson have beautiful voices that I decided after going home and listening to their album sound better live. Their harmonies were so spot on you would have thought they were of one blood...I was actually on Noah Gunderson's mailing list for a bit. Why? I used it as an excuse to go talk to him after the show all those years ago in Spokane. Yes, I approached him under the clever guise of the mailing list, and characteristically un-slyly asked them where the afterparty was. I don't know what would posses me to do such a thing. Well, if you saw his jawline you may understand. I was nicely told they were heading home for the night, sorry. Then I got sporadic e-mails for a while reminding me of how little game I had.
William Fitzsimmons came on stage rocking the denim on denim, and beard like you wouldn't believe. A beard that is every man's dream come November, a beard that would be Utopia for a bird to nest in—nay, for an Eagle to nest in— a beard that would make Karl Marx jealous.To say that his music is chill is an understatement. To say that his music is hopeful is like saying Lana Del Rey has more than one facial expression. His dulcet voice coupled with very personal lyrics left some of the once standing hipsters weeping on the floor.
Noah, Abbey Gunderson with William Fitzsimmons & Crew (thank you Rachel for the photos)
What I appreciated about William Fitzsimmons was that he acknowledged this fact and embraced it, even poking fun at it. He blamed large amounts of Jim Bean, but he started saying things like,
“I'm going to tone it down a bit now, I know I can get pretty loud.”
and,
“I'm going to play a happy song; but don't worry folks I'm going to get back to that depressing stuff right after.”
As Rachel and I were walking to our car to head home, we spotted him in the back alley having a cigarette. We walked over to say hello. Yes, that beard is very real. I checked. I mentally tugged it with my eyes.
I would like to draw your attention to the smile. Rachel does this to people.
That is significant, folks.
We talked to him a bit, and he was really nice. He said his upcomming album is going to be more upbeat. I patted his arm and told him to “cheer up.” No joke. I don't know what came over me. And with that, we parted ways.
Not pictured: the other half of his Canadian Tuxedo.
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