M. Ward, Music at Castle Clinton, 7/21/05

After being introduced by a WFUV voice as just the sort of “flying under the radar” artist that that radio station trumpets, M. Ward began last night’s live effort to ascend into the plain sight of the mainstream. Some of the crowd at last night’s steamy Battery Park didn’t need to be told about the singer-songwriter from Portland, Oregon: a few of his songs earned smatterings of informed applause. Good, then, that Ward strove to introduce his brand of literate and tuneful backwoods rock a one step at a time. His first song, a peppy solo guitar with mischevious minor sevenths thrown in for smirky kicks, recalled “Signe,” the beginning performance from Eric Clapton’s Unplugged. The band fell in behind him on time, and Ward was free to ride their loping country beat into some impressive and unexpected squalls of druggy feedback.

From then on, there was no telling where Ward would take his supporting three piece band next; the next hour and a half was mainly a unintended tour of the influences from which Ward has struggled to free himself. The band for their part kept up gamely with the changes between driving roots rock and muted ballad—all of it a tad boozy and worn. For one song, Ward held aside his red Fender and wavered around the mike like some unsteady character sketch of Vincent D’Onfrio’s, singing unsteadily about “fuel for a fire.” For another, the vivid and driving “Helicopter,” a noticeable Jakob Dylan rasp came into his voice which suited the exceptional lyrics: “Helicopter / Let your rope ladder down / We’ll sway into the sunset / I’ve done all I can do with this town.” When Ward sat down at an upright piano for the cabaret-style “Poor Boy Key,” one could almost hear the stately advice of Rufus Wainwright.

Ward’s most obvious influence, however, is Ryan Adams: both artists at their worst sound like archivists of great works past, mimes of 50’s doo-wop outros with extended notes and showy melisma, Johnny-Come-Latelies killing time in their garages. When these crazy-quilt Americana songs have all their stitches showing, the result can feel like hackwork—this was unfortunately the case with Ward’s song for Daniel Johnston, a slow live ballad that rhymed “story” with “glory” and exposed a surprising off-key cant to Ward’s voice.

Still, one might argue that with influences like this, who could complain? And Ward does inspire relief when, in a madcap “Rock Around the Clock”-ish tale of insomnia, he drops a line like “It’s five in the morning, and I’m wishing it was one.” (Few other lines written today are likelier to be mistaken for Bob Dylan.) Luckily though, Ward has enough strengths of his own to keep claims of hipster’s-cover-band status at bay. Introducing a song as one “about a river” and learned in Europe, he artfully launched into an electro-shock rendition of Strauss’s “The Blue Danube” that puts Hendrix’s “Star-Spangled Banner” into mind. Ward also showed himself deft with the whammy bar, shading his guitar’s tone into echoey, even ghostly territory that pulled against the hearthy country-home strains of his melodies and lyrics. And in the middle of The Carter Family’s “Oh, Take Me Back,” he pointed to the sun that had just set with the sort of spontaneous gesture that his performances lacked. Ward and crew as a band are competent and enthusiastic, and Ward as a songwriter and guitarist is capable of some heroics, but it will take a lot more practice here at sea level before this outfit gains much altitude.