Joe Lapinski: Worth Ruining a Night Off
An intimate night at NAC that eventually sent the whole room upstairs
Somewhere during “Thinking Of You,” Ian de Souza played a bass fill that “ruined” my night off.
I'd gone to Niagara Artists Centre Thursday night intending to watch my friend Joe Lapinski play, have a drink with Jay and enjoy the show. No notes. No review.
I'd already watched Geordie Gordon's opening set and the first few songs from Joe and his band without writing down a thing.
Then Ian played that damned bass fill.
Out came the phone.
Which means I owe Geordie Gordon a bit of an apology.
Gordon had opened the evening with a thoroughly entertaining solo set, accompanying himself on an instrument that had me puzzled. It looked too big to be a ukulele, but it only had four strings. Some kind of big ukulele? Baritone ukulele?
Nope. Tenor guitar.
Gordon set me straight after his performance. Whatever I thought I was looking at, it certainly didn't sound like a ukulele. The instrument had a surprisingly deep, rich acoustic-guitar sound, and Gordon was pulling some wonderfully complex chords out of those four strings.
He has a really good, expressive singing voice, too, and there was something distinctive about his songwriting that kept pulling me into songs I'd never heard before. I'm admittedly not particularly up on this corner of the singer-songwriter world, so I'm probably missing more obvious contemporary comparisons.
Somewhere during his set I found myself thinking of Jackson Browne.
That's where my musical brain went.
Unfortunately, that's also about when I was still successfully pretending I wasn't reviewing anything.
Then Joe Lapinski and his band took the stage.
One of those early songs stuck with me enough that I asked Joe about it afterward. It was “Hurt A Bird,” from his latest album New Day.
Afterward, Joe joked that during rehearsal earlier that day they'd managed, apparently for the first time, to get all the way through the song without messing up any of the words. I can't remember exactly how he put the next part — remember, I still wasn't taking notes — but he essentially chastised himself for writing a song with that many damned words and complicated vocal parts in the first place.
Fair point, Joe.
The whole night had an organic feel to it. Fun, upbeat rawk taking us in all kinds of directions — sometimes straight ahead, sometimes into odd time signatures and more progressive territory, then backing off into something atmospheric before cranking everything up again.
Lapinski coaxed all kinds of great tones out of his guitar throughout the night, from atmospheric, delay-soaked passages to downright nasty tones when things got heavier. And when he stretched out for a solo, he could play.
Behind him, Dave Clark seemed determined to play the entire show with everything except ordinary drumsticks. Brushes, mallets, rods and assorted other implements kept appearing in his hands; actual sticks seemed almost like the novelty.
De Souza's bass playing had already cost me my night off, and he continued giving me reasons to pay attention. Jason Kenemy could get a little funky, even honky-tonk-ish, on the upbeat numbers, then turn downright atmospheric when the music headed in that direction. Laurel Minnes and Jillian Rene Smith — “cat-mom” to those who were there — added backing vocals that repeatedly became an important part of the arrangements rather than simply sitting behind Joe.
Before the show, Joe had mentioned that it was a little too chilly for his hands to spend the whole night playing on the rooftop, but that we might venture upstairs for an acoustic set if everyone was up for it.
Partway through the show, he put it to the room.
Everyone was up for it.
So the concert temporarily became a parade.
Musicians and audience made their way upstairs to the NAC rooftop, while the soundman joked that he might take a nap until we came back.
What followed was a wonderfully informal three-song acoustic set — “Honey Why?”, “Light” and “You!” — that quickly became something of a sing-along and stomp-along. Clark, apparently still searching for things that weren't drumsticks, even grabbed a pair of ladies' shoes and started using them for percussion on a chair and table.
And when it was time to head back downstairs, the singing didn't stop.
We just sang our way back down.
Back downstairs, de Souza got another chance to make me glad I'd finally started taking notes, stretching out on a bass solo during “Rock / Mountain.”
Later, “I Know This” brought Minnes and Smith's backing vocals right to the forefront in one of the night's more intricate arrangements. This was no pair of singers politely adding harmonies behind the guy with the guitar; their voices were woven right into what made the song — the night — work.
By the end of the night, what struck me most was just how complete the whole thing had felt. We had gone from straight-ahead rawk to odd metres and big guitar sounds, from intricate vocal arrangements to an acoustic sing-along on a rooftop — and somehow none of it felt like we had wandered into a different show.
It was also the kind of night that deserved more people in the room. Not because the room felt empty — the people who were there were very much part of what made it work — but because more people should have seen it.
I went to NAC determined to take the night off.
Ian de Souza ruined that plan.
I'm glad he did.