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Concert Review: Iron And Wine Debuts Conspiratorial
Songs

Neo-Folk Performer Battles Rustiness Before Friendly
Crowd
David Hyland, Staff Writer

UPDATED: 12:54 pm CST February 9, 2007

MILWAUKEE -- Call it a manipulation or sometimes just
offering a sage's advice, but Floridian Sam Beam is an
expert confessor. Whether it's admitting to flubbing
lyrics onstage or whispering secret wisdom through his
spooky, delicate songs, Beam (also known as one-man
acoustic entity Iron and Wine) lays it all out so as
to extend an invitation to a kind of conspiracy.

On Thursday night, Beam made his musical plot much
deeper, debuting three-fourths of his recently
recorded but unreleased new album before a friendly,
packed crowd at Milwaukee's majestic Pabst Theater. He
battled rustiness and occasionally struggled with the
new cuts, but the audience was fervent in their
support and he never surrendered his power to draw
listeners into his world.

At its best, Beam's songs tug at the same deep-seated
emotions as those suggested in that slightly cheesy
Volkswagen car commercial from years ago that featured
Nick Drake's "Pink Moon." (You know, the one were the
teens are riding around at night to a party but
ultimately skip the festivities to communally cruise
around with Drake cooing in their ears.)

Like the pretty 20-somethings in the commercial, Beam
wrestles with the themes that consume most young
songwriters -- desire for belonging, forlorn love and
contemplating the future -- but through his allusive
voice, his lyrics and atmospheric guitar work, he's
able to make his introspective folk songs curiously
unique and refreshing. His tunes are like ponderous
notes passed between friends, albeit the most
unashamedly poetic, naturalistic and fatalistic.

That same seriousness doesn't carry over onstage. On
Thursday, Beam's demeanor was a bit goofy, his dry,
self-deprecating chatter formed a commentary
throughout the hour-and-a-half show as he'd tune his
guitar. Dressed in a red sweater, well-worn jeans, a
scarf and sporting new, chin-length hair to match his
Jesus beard, he looked like the personification of a
hippie troubadour, but one beloved by the sensitive,
heavily pierced indie-rock fans. If Beam's intention
for this one-off show was to test the songs in
America's heartland, he made a wise choice.

A slightly riskier idea was to play this show solo.
First, Beam was clearly underrehearsed, particularly
with the new songs, and he frequently broke down as he
juggled playing and singing. Second, he played without
the assistance of the backing band that he usually
carts along with him. This left no one to compensate
for any slipups. He didn't seem bothered though. His
recurring mistakes were laughed off and then greeted
with sympathetic cheers.

"I'm not used to playing without a band," he said. "Oh
well."

Notwithstanding that, Beam could buckle down and give
magnetic performances. Fewer instruments didn't
clutter his guitar playing, which was impressive, and
gave his voice more room to maneuver. His singing was
richer, warmer and more forceful than on his handful
of albums and EPs. Sometimes bathed in a honey-colored
lights, he looked like a younger brother of the ZZ Top
guys.

Sprinkled through the set were many of the fan
favorites from those records but some in a rearranged
formed. "He Lays In Reins" and "Jezebel" (played at
someone's request) were slowed down to a quiet stomp
and both had curious codas with Beam demonstrating a
solid yet freaky falsetto. The chilly "Sodom, South
Georgia" was made brighter so as to sound like a Foo
Fighters song. The new variations gave Beam an
opportunity to bring out new colors of the melody and
imbue them with new emotions.

However, the crowd response was stronger for "Naked As
We Come," "Free Until They Cut Me Down" and "Upward
Over The Mountain," which were closer to the recorded
versions, and each met with enthusiastic applause, as
if the audience was savoring something familiar.

This was because the concert was really dedicated to
the new material, some of which might appear on the
album that Beam said would be called "Shepherd's
Dawg."

"Spelled D-A-W-G," he said.

In total, Beam performed about 10 new songs including
one that barely stretched two verses. Some of the song
titles Beam rattled off were "Pagan Angel And Borrowed
Car," "Love Song Of The Buzzard," "House By The Sea,"
"Carousel," "Resurrection Fern" and "Flightless Bird
And American Mouth." (Or was that mouse?)

The new tunes are a direct continuation of the Iron
and Wine sound. As is his practice, Beam has
constructed the new songs mostly around unusual
acoustic guitar riffs as opposed to chords. He repeats
the fragments until they become monotonous, allowing
the plucked notes to reverberate and allowing slight
changes to the tempo or tone to add variety and skew
meanings.

"Pagan Angel And Borrowed Car" boasted impressive
finger-picking technique and a blur of lyrical images
that veered between modern life and more pastoral
concerns. "Love Song Of The Buzzard" was a springtime
love song that featured bended notes, suggesting an
Indian music influence. "Carousel" featured an
ascending guitar pattern, which formed a tapestry of
notes. "Resurrection Fern" was melancholic but
defiant. Its melody developed around a C chord and
lyrics harkened back to early Van Morrison.

Beam's opening act, the 1900s, shared a similar
fondness for that kind of music. Despite the
Chicago-area combo's name, the group obviously has the
late '60s and early '70s in particular on their minds.
The seven-piece's music harkens back to some of the
sounds emerging from that era's Topanga Canyon in
California, varying between super-sunny jangle-pop of
the Mamas and the Papas to Ricky Nelson's country-rock
period. Their set was short and impressive, and their
merch table was doing brisk business after the show.

Beam certainly seemed ill-prepared as compared to the
1900s' tight set, but he was always able to compose
himself and swiftly reclaim the seriousness in his
songs.

"It's all pro here," he joked.

He finished strongly. His set-closing song, "The
Trapeze Singer," is a moving mini-epic that is a
tender letter with a Dante-like trip to heaven, and
should have a slot reserved on Iron and Wine's
greatest hits disc.

Fighting to keep pace, he wrung every word of its
inherent meaning, which tries to coax an erstwhile
friend to remember all their shared memories, a love
of mischief and fun. The song sums up the underlying
meaning of all Iron and Wine's albums and his core
message to those seduced by them: Come on in and enjoy.

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