sing it, ray

Last night Dan and I ventured to Detroit Rock City to see Ray LaMontagne (pronounced “La Mon Tang”). If you don’t know Ray, go to (www.myspace.com/raylamontagne) and listen to “Three More Days” and “Trouble.” Then purchase a CD; you’ll have no regrets.

When the lights dimmed inside the Scottish Rite Cathedral, a woman quietly walked on stage, grabbed an acoustic guitar and started picking a hauntingly beautiful tune. She was “Tristan Prettyman from San Diego,” who used to make pizzas but now travels the globe singing surfer music.

She was good. And apparently she surfs, too. Spicy.

Ray carries a mystical presence. With his signature beard and fro, he utters few words. He’d tease the audience like he was going to speak, then he’d just look to his band and start another song. At one point, some Sloppy Joe yelled, “Take your pants off, Ray!” He responded by springing up a middle finger salute, the crowd applauded.

Ray’s voice is soft and raspy, as if he’s stricken with a permanent-cold, but it’s what makes him memorable. When he bellows his signature crescendo, “Ohhh, ohhh,” his knees bend, his voice explodes, the crowd goes bananas.

Ray’s band is tight, both functionally and adjectively: His guitarist is a master of slide, electric, acoustic and classical; the drummer aware and accurate; the female bassist swaying like she was experiencing heaven on earth.

But what I like most about Ray is that he’s a poet; though he doesn’t recycle clichés or care what mainstream culture thinks is music (ahem, MTV & VH1).

In “Burn,” about an ex-lover who has moved on while he remains heartbroken, he writes:

Oh so don't pay no mind
To my watering eyes
Must be something in the air
That I'm breathing

While essentially saying, “Yes, you’ve broken my heart, it has made me cry and I am embarrassed,” he avoids abused country music phrases, and says it “must be something in the air that I’m breathing.” All men can relate. Wow.

Yes’n I try to ignore
All this blood on the floor
It's just this heart on my sleeve that's bleeding

No parsing necessary, this is literary gold.

Oh mama don't walk away
You leave me here bereaving from the words so hard and plain
Saying the love that we had
was just selfish and sad

To see you now with him
is just making me mad
Oh so kiss him again
just to prove to me that you can
and I will stand here
and burn in my skin

In order to fully appreciate this final line, you have to hear Ray sing, “Burn in my skin.” It’s top notch. It’s raw. It’s authentic. It makes your stomach hurt. It’s additional cliché words for cool.

All this to say: Music reaches the unreachable places. It is powerful. It has the power to bring us together or tear us apart. Music is a universal communicator of love, hate and everything in-between. I love music.