The Musical Box

ZZ Top: Dusty Hill, Billy F. Gibbons and Frank Beard

In the credits for every song on the new ZZ Top album La Futura — listed before everything, in fact, save for the title and running time — are these words: “Performed by Billy F. Gibbons, Dusty Hill, Frank Beard.”

If you are even a casual fan of this veteran Texas trio, the repetition of such info might seem an epic overstatement of the obvious. From its early 1970s beginnings as a champion roadhouse blues and boogie combo to its wildly unexpected reincarnation in the ’80s as bearded music video celebs to its present day title of elder Lone Star hipsters, the music and mystique of ZZ Top remain the creation of its founding three members. And if takes a gentle reminder in the credits to all of the La Futura songs, so be it.

For über-bearded guitarist and principal vocalist Gibbons, the mentions are like affirmations of the credo the band has long lived by: “Same three guys, same three chords.”

“Exactly,” Gibbons remarked during a recent email interview. “What you see is what you get, so we’re just keeping expectations in line with reality. The trio format, as espoused by the Jimi Hendrix Experience and Cream, keeps things very elemental, basic and vital. That’s been our corner since the beginning.”

At the heart of the elemental sound has always been the blues. The boogie charge of La Grange and the synth-drive rhythms of Legs might have guided ZZ Top through separate waves of stardom during the ’70s and ’80s, but underneath it all has been a lean and powerfully emotive guitar sound rooted in the blues. Gibbons was witness to the sound while growing up in Houston by way of performance exposure to the blues’ most prestigious ambassadors. Deciding which of those inspirations played the most pivotal role in shaping his own guitar abilities, Gibbons said, is a mighty task

“Hard to pick just one. But if I had to, I guess it would be B.B. King. I got to see him record when I was a youngster — maybe seven years old. My dad had an ‘in’ at the studio in Houston where B.B. and company preferred to record. That experience made a tremendous impression on me and, obviously, it’s stayed on all these years.”B.B. King is now in year 63 or 64 of his career, and I’ve only been at it for maybe 45 years, so there’s a whole lot of catching up to do.”

But along with the blues came a kind of Texan/Mexicali mystique that has come to underscore the band’s image. Some of it is reflected in its appearance — specifically, the sunglasses and majestic facial hair Gibbons and bassist Hill have sported for 34 of the band’s 44-year history. Ironically, drummer Beard is the only member without the waist-length whiskers. The mystique also permeates the music — from the swagger of hits like Cheap Sunglasses and Sharp Dressed Man to the deliciously twisted twang in such overlooked gems as the title tunes to 1996′s Rhythmeen and 2003′s Mescalero albums.

“We have a long standing familiarity with the border and the denizens who live on it and below it,” Gibbons said. “All three of us listened to those powerhouse million-watt AM radio stations that blasted the blues out of Mexico directly into our brains. And of course without las comidas Mexicanas (Mexican food), we’d waste away. Muy sabroso (very tasty).”

But the key to ZZ Top’s remarkable staying power is something much simpler. The band is nearly halfway through its fifth decade without a personnel change, thanks to a chemistry that has become as resilient as the music.

“This is a band that simply likes to play together,” Gibbons said. “Of course, standing as a trio, an odd number helps as there can’t be any ties when a group decision is made. So, if one of us isn’t in accord with the other two, odd man out just goes with the flow. And, since it’s so in fashion to ‘break up’ and then ‘get back together,’ one can think of ZZ Top as being on an infinite tour that just skipped the part where you split. However, we’re really good at getting back together.”

ZZ Top’s visibility also has provided Gibbons with a few side projects, including a recurring role in the TV series Bones, in which he essentially plays himself (“The cast and crew are like an extended family. Gets me out of work for a day, too. Rock on.”) and a recent reunion with his psychedelic pre-ZZ band, Moving Sidewalks (“Going back and experiencing what went down at 16 or 17 years old is a huge kick”).

But life on the road, playing La Grange, Give Me All Your Lovin’ and newer works from the Rick Rubin- produced La Futura is what Gibbons’ performance world orbits around. By all appearances, onstage and off, the ride seems to be as cool as ever.

“It’s a dream job to get out there and play La Grange every night, singing ‘haw, haw, haw,’” Gibbons says. “Don’t get much better.”

ZZ Top performs at 7:30 tonight at the EKU Center for the Arts, 521 Lancaster Ave. in Richmond. Tickets are $63.50-$93.50. Call (859) 622-7469 or go to http://ekucenter.com.

Paul Burch

Early into the nearly two-hour roots rock joyride Paul Burch and the WPA Ballclub engaged in Saturday night at Willie’s Locally Known was a savory tune called Honey Blue.

It grew out of a blast of fuzzy guitar, a syncopated beat that resembled a mild rhumba (the trio repeatedly returned to such a percussive device throughout the evening) and a crisp, authoritative vocal from Nashvillian Burch that was steeped in the concise, emotive delivery of vintage pop. As if this change-up were not enough to showcase the efficient drive that the show favored, Honey Blue then morphed into a brief snippet of the blues/soul staple Good Morning Little Schoolgirl.

The medley summed up everything you needed to know about Burch’s stylistic sensibilities by offering a slice of original, pop-fortified roots rock alongside an example of the tradition-minded song construction that inspired it.

In short, it was Burch’s way of saying, ‘Go ahead. Pay attention to the man behind the curtain.’

The model for this kind of musical time-tripping was obviously Nick Lowe. Burch’s original tunes possessed the kind of expert songcraft and split infatuation with roots rock and pop that made Lowe’s early records so distinctive. It could be heard last night in the subtle melodic swing of Little Bells, the retro country propulsion of the show-opening Like a Train and the elegant pop sweep of Waiting for My Ship (all three tunes, along with the earlier Honey Blue, came from Burch’s splendid 2009 album, Still Your Man).

Even Burch’s vocals recalled Lowe’s clean, collected singing, as evidenced by Ballad of Henry & Jimmy and the more vintage country rumble Jackson, Tn.

Beyond that, the show was as casually paced as it was tireless. Burch must have bade the audience good night a half-dozen times before launching into another song. It took Saturday Night Jamboree and Tryin’ to Get to You to finally shut the trio down. Even then, Burch – who was decked out in suit, tie and vest – looked as if he had just hit the stage instead of having ripped through the rock of ages for a couple of hours. Score one for the power of positive pop.

Justin Townes Earle

“Don’t start telling me what to do,” Justin Townes Earle cautioned to a patron barking out song requests Friday night at Buster’s. “I’ve got this thing under control.”

The celebrated songsmith was true to his word. During a brisk 90-minute set – his first headlining gig in Lexington in more than a decade – Earle both played to and against expectations with unassuming authority.

To those who view Earle as an alt-country or Americana artist – a guilt-by-association tag he can’t help but bear as the son of Steve Earle – there were tunes that skirted with country tradition, such as the pedal steel-saturated Midnight at the Movies and the familial meditation Mama’s Eyes. The latter was one of two songs last night (Am I That Lonely Tonight? was the other) to reference Earle’s famous dad (“I am my father’s son. I’ve never known when to shut up.”).

But the more Earle stirred the stylistic pot, using country inspirations as components rather than foundations for his songs, the more playful and intriguing the performance became. A wonderful case in point was Baby’s Got a Bad Idea, one of several works highlighted from Earle’s recent Nothing’s Gonna Change the Way You Feel About Me Now album. The song was a ripe, roots-savvy excursion that emerged from a rural country framework but was driven by a pure rock ’n’ roll charge. The resulting music sounded like a cross between Faron Young and T. Rex.

When Earle strayed completely from country-related turf, you heard a voice with a clear pop vision – or at least you did when the show’s muddy sound mix wasn’t making the songsmith sound as if he was singing underwater.

During the cleaner moments, stylists like Ryan Adams (in his lighter, less Americana-inclined songs) and even Josh Rouse came to mind. But a pop star Earle is not. The wily thematic depth of One More Night in Brooklyn and especially Harlem River Blues – not to mention an especially crafty choice of cover material served as encores (Billy Joe Shaver’s Georgia on a Fast Train, The Replacements’ Can’t Hardly Wait) – placed Earle very much in a musical camp of his own restless design.

Justin Townes Earle

Touring artists often measure success in modest but practical terms.

The first reward, of course, is the work itself – preferably, a quantity sufficient enough to allow for touring in the first place. But once the work starts coming in and an artistic identity (and popularity) is present, the focus reverts to less glamorous rewards, like the means of transportations that keep a tour in very literal motion.                                                                                                                                                                                                                               established,the

Take Justin Townes Earle. Since 2007, he has released five recordings of original songs that have increasingly fortified his musical identity among Americana audiences. That’s no meager feat, either, considering his father is the veteran songsmith Steve Earle.

But as he hits the road this spring, the younger Earle is a happy man. Is it because his road band includes longtime Calexico guitarist Paul Niehaus? Could it be the Memphis soul-saturated songs from Earle’s 2012 album Nothing’s Gonna Change the Way You Feel About Me Now?

Well, the answer is partially yes in both cases. But Earle is also a chipper touring performer these days because the mounting success of his career has made him a higher class of road warrior.

In short, he now has a tour bus.

“Let me tell you, it was definitely a big change the day I went from driving the van most of the time to sitting on a bed in the back of the bus,” Earle said. “So we’re pretty comfortable these days. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Not a big deal, you say? Well, they sure beat the car trips Earle took to Lexington to play the long-defunct Lynagh’s Music Club more than a decade ago as a complete unknown to play alongside bluesmen Frank Schapp and the late Joey Broughman.

Ttimes have very much changed. An indie EP titled Yuma introduced Earle’s haunting country sound in 2007. The Good Life, which echoed more than a little of the swing and tenacity of giants like Hank Williams without ever sounding imitative, followed in 2008.

Then the grunt work started. The Good Life began a string of increasingly arresting albums for the Chicago indie label Bloodshot. Blues, Americana and severe rural folk inspirations took their places in Earle’s songs. But by the time Nothing’s Gonna Change came along, brassy Memphis soul was providing balance to Earle’s starker, darker songs.

“My songs are just kind of inspired by everyday life and everyday emotion,” Earle said. “It’s everywhere. I always carry around a little note pad. But on the songs I’ve been writing recently, I’ve been making a real effort to sit down to write – just as a practice. Before, I’ve been kind of a cocktail napkin writer for most of my life.

“I definitely had an idea of how I wanted the last record to sound. I’m way too controlling to not have an idea. When I’m writing, I start hearing production and other stuff. Plus, I’m good at surrounding myself with great people. As an untrained musician, I can get a little raw, a little off. So you’ve got to have people around you that kind of pull you back a little, because they’re often out in front where everyone can still see you. And that makes an incredible difference. Any artist that thinks their every idea is brilliant is a (expletive) jackass.”

Perhaps the inevitable and most unavoidable question in surveying Earle’s songs surrounds the inspiration of his father. How big a role does Steve Earle play on a Justin Townes Earle record? The answer is little if any. You certainly don’t hear it within the soul and blues influences that play out on Nothing’s Gonna Change, even though dad is referenced specifically as the lyrics unfold during the album opening Am I That Lonely Tonight?

But advice that father Earle, and other Texas-bred songwriters, offered did help shape the younger Earle’s writing.

“My father told me a few things about songwriting that stuck with me. He would say, ‘Stay honest’ and ‘Don’t write anything you don’t know.’ I really remember him and (veteran Lone Star songwriter) Guy Clark telling me, ‘When you write a song, make sure you want to play it for the next 30 years. You never know what will happen.’”

What will happen in the immediate future will be the recording of another album, which Earle said will probably expound on the soul charge of Nothing’s Gonna Change, with possible nods to the styles of Ray Charles and Ike Turner. The plan is have the record done and released by next winter. But he also doesn’t plan on rushing himself. The songs, he said, will surface in their own good time.

“Right now I’m in a good space. Mostly, for the past six years I’ve been in a good space to build. Plus, I’m only 31. So it’s a good time for me to be out working and doing all these things. But I still have a lot of songs in me. I don’t force them to come out.”

Justin Townes Earle with The Rooster’s Crow perform at 9 tonight at Buster’s Billiards and Backroom, 899 Manchester St. Tickets are $20. Call (859) 368-8871 or go to  Bustersbb.com.

Tatsuya Nakatani

‘And another thing…’  is a just-the-facts-ma’am mid-to-late week update of live music doings in the area that will surface periodically here in The Musical Box.

Just a few quick items this time around, two of which come to us courtesy of Ross Compton’s Outside the Spotlight of improvisational/free jazz-oriented concerts.

In what is essentially a first for OTS, the series will present shows on two consecutive nights next week.

+ Percussionist Tatsuya Nakatani returns to town on May 6 for a concert at the Mecca studios (948 Manchester), with French reed player Michel Doneda (8 p.m., $5). By Compton’s count, Nakatani has played roughly a half-dozen OTS shows over the past decade, including a 2005 appearance with Doneda.

Paul Giallorenzo

+ Then on May 7, the series presents its first show at Willie’s Locally Known, 805 N. Broadway. The main attraction will be Paul Giallorenzo’s GitGO. Pianist Giallorenzo is largely new to OTS, but several of his GitGo-ers are not. The lineup will include trombonist Jeb Bishop, who played OTS just last month as part of The Engines, and OTS mainstay Anton Hatwich on bass. Saxophonist Mars Williams and drummer Quin Kirchner round out the band (8 p.m., $5).

Billy F. Gibbons

+ Finally, we’ll post our interview with ZZ Top’s Billy F. Gibbons in a few days as a preview for the band’s Sunday concert at the EKU Center for the Arts in Richmond. But we really felt the need to include here his parting remark, which didn’t make it into the story. Of Sunday’s performance , the guitarist made this promise: “It’ll be a good ’un.”

Few musical situations elicit greater or more immediate excitement than the junctions where composition and improvisation meet. And perhaps no instrument better showcases that balance than the piano.

On two new recordings, John Medeski and Matthew Shipp – composers and improvisers who have represented themselves as prime artistic journeymen over the past two decades – explore various temperaments and even musical histories to further their piano voices.

Medeski is the keyboardist component of the avant-jam trio Medeski Martin & Wood, where his primary instruments are organ and clavinet and his favored stylistic device is the groove (along with various deconstructed variants). But on his debut solo album, A Different Time, Medeski retreats strictly to piano. And not just any piano, mind you, but a 1924 French-made Gaveau – an instrument whose pre-modern construction shapes much of the record’s mood.

Those accustomed to MMW’s frenzied jams – even the rare acoustic ones that featured piano – are likely to find the relaxed and often impressionistic tone of A Different Place a refreshing, if not somewhat unanticipated, departure. The delicacy of the Gaveau’s sound plays a part. But the largely contemplative intent of the album’s improvised title tune, the curiously wintry fancy that invests Willie Nelson’s I’m Falling in Love Again with studied grace and the huskier but pastoral sweep of the traditional spiritual His Eye is on the Sparrow place Medeski’s playing in a new and immensely complimentary light.

In contrast to the records of MMW, A Different Time comes across as an after-hours meditation. Even the album closing Otis, first presented on the 1992 MMW debut  Notes from the Underground, possesses newfound patience and warmth, and a beautifully intimate piano accent that the Gaveau brings to the entire album.

Matthew Shipp has long been at the forefront of a new generation of improvisers. Solo piano also is the setting that best expresses his musicianship, but Shipp’s new Greatest Hits album is an anthology that celebrates 12 years worth of varied, compelling formats.

There is the militaristic rumble that ignites a quartet summit with the great New York trumpeter Roy Campbell (Gesture), the syncopated groove that positions programmed synths and William Parker’s ultra funky acoustic bass under Shipp’s piano lead (Cohesion) and the ruptured lyricism of his trio with bassist Michael Bissio and drummer Whit Dickey (the title tune to 2012’s Elastic Aspects). But the neo-classical construction of Module, from the essential 2005 solo piano record One, brings the magic of Shipp’s playing into fully sharpened prominence.

There is in an admittedly tongue-in-cheek aspect to calling such a decidedly non-commercial sampler Greatest Hits. Still, in summarizing the many musical profiles of one of today’s foremost improviser/composers, the anthology undeniably hits big.

Taylor Swift performed Saturday night at Rupp Arena. Herald-Leader staff photo by Mark Cornelison.

It was large on ceremony and, at times, uncomfortably long on talk. But when it stuck to essentials – tunes and performances that reveled in youthful celebration – Taylor Swift’s sold-out concert Saturday night at Rupp Arena became quite the party.

With three Lexington shows in slightly more than four years now to her credit, it has become clear that the multi-platinum-selling 23-year-old seldom opts for the simple. Last night’s outing came with staging that simulated an ancient cathedral and a Paris skyline. It had a violinist popping out of the stage floor, percussionists being flung about on wires like slingshots, and parades of musicians, singers, dancers and, of course, costume changes that continually gave the concert the feel of a music video come to life.

And there was red. Lots if it. Not so coincidentally, Swift’s newest album is titled Red. The favored color could be found in costumes (the Oz-esque ruby slippers the singer wore at the top of the performance), the backdrops, the stage dressings and the lighting. In short, red was more generously red splashed about at Rupp on Saturday night than in a Friday the 13^th movie.

There also was the metaphorical red that was the basis for one of several life lessons that Swift dispensed between songs. Declaring red as symbolic of “the crazy emotions,” the singer also offered this bit of social guidance: “The only thing you have control over (in life) is how you look at it.”

To quote the late Roger Ebert, “Wow. That’s deep.”

But the truly curious aspect to this performance was that despite its sense of (and seeming desire for) spectacle, Swift’s pop smarts have matured markedly. Take, for instance, the sock-hop pop of 22, which sent the singer and a platoon of dancers to a stage near the back of the arena floor. There was no ballyhoo, no costumed theme, just a moment when honest, exuberant music and motion were in sync.

There were similar moments in the vintage girl-group pop of You Belong to Me and Holy Ground. But there were just as many instances when some of Swift’s more melodically inclined hits were suffocated by the staging. The bizarrely vampish courtesan setting for I Knew You Were Trouble, in particular, was a real head-scratcher.

A serviceable vocalist at best, Swift has nonetheless become a confident and tireless stage artist. As she journeys into her 20s, maybe she can lasso in the floor show a bit to bring it more in line with the pop properties that she is so obviously schooled in.

The 30-minute opening set by British pop stylist Ed Sheeran was as spontaneous as Swift’s show was choreographed. In a rare move for an arena act, Sheeran performed as a solo acoustic act, building on-the-spot arrangements out of looped bits of vocal and percussive fragments. The homemade formula hit a dizzying zenith during You Need Me, I Don’t Need You.

It was difficult, however, deciding which was the gutsier move during Sheeran’s cover of Wayfaring Stranger – singing the tune’s final chorus a capella before the crowd of 17,000 or deciding to tackle the traditional folk favorite in the first place within a set of contemporary pop originals.

Illinois-born country singer Brett Eldridge began the evening with a brief five-song set. The musicianship of a four-piece band was effective and thrifty, the singing was crisp and authoritative, but the material was completely innocuous.

George Jones

George Jones was the first nationally established country artist I ever wrote about. We’re going back to the early ’80s here, a time when Jones, Conway Twitty and Merle Haggard played Rupp Arena on a near-annual basis.

For Jones, who died this morning, this was the second heyday of a storied career, an era that directly followed the mammoth hit status of He Stopped Loving Her Today. That song was over the top, a sweeping orchestral account with the sentimental force of a hurricane. But Jones let that extraordinary voice underplay the whole thing. He rode the song’s story line of emotional devastation the way you and I drive to the grocery. Maybe it was because the route was so familiar to him. But that didn’t mean his singing couldn’t flip on a dime when a tricky passage emerged. Jones could color a phrase, a verse – shoot, even a word – with a controlled blast of genuine rural desperation at a moment’s notice. It was the kind of combative, intuitive device that, once detonated, left you thinking. ‘Where in the world did that come from?’

Of course, Jones was regularly the master of his own reckless destiny. That he lived to be 81 after all the drugs, drink and divorce – not to mention the car wrecks, both real and metaphorical – is something of a country miracle.

So volatile was his offstage life that one never knew whether he was capable of tracking his onstage obligations. When I began writing about him, the nickname ‘No Show’ Jones was serious business. I never covered a show he didn’t make, but I heard all kinds of stories. I remember one reporter in Richmond being so astounded that Jones didn’t bail on a regional show that his review bore the headline “No Show Jones Shows Up.”

Jones’ prime performance years in Lexington became true occasions. The greatest probably came in 1987 when he headlined a Rupp concert but championed the then-rookie show opener, Randy Travis, as the heir apparent to the country traditionalist crown. Three years later, the two shared another Rupp bill, only with Travis as headliner.

Jones last strode onto a Rupp stage two years ago, when he made a surprise appearance at a Kenny Chesney show. He looked and sounded frail – severely so. The spirit was luminous, of course. But it was clear that the end of the touring road was at hand. He retired in 2012. Now he’s gone.

As country singers go, George Jones flat-out wrote the book. Generations tried to replicate his style. None came even remotely close. Maybe the intensities of the firestorms that became everyday life for Jones scared them off. Everyone wanted to be the Possum, it seemed. But no one was up to walking in his shoes.  

The story goes that This River, the sixth studio album by southern soul-funk strategists JJ Grey and Mofro, takes its name from the St. John’s River near Jacksonville. But as you listen to the record’s mighty music unfold, you might think Florida native Grey has charted a course for Muscle Shoals. That’s the Alabama community responsible for some of the greatest R&B music of the past 50 years. Its influence has increasingly informed Mofro records for the past decade. By the time this new album’s 10 songs have run their course, the pilgrimage to Alabama sounds pretty much complete.

That’s not to say This River doesn’t pay heed to the distinctive swampy groove music that Grey began giving a solid Floridian stamp to as far back as Mofro’s 2001 debut album, Blackwater. That record’s earthy, humid air feeds the swelter of This River’s album opener, Your Lady, She’s Shady. The ragged guitar hooks and Grey’s equally juiced-up vocal shout instigate the groove over fast-talking, street-walking lyrics. But by the time the soul shouting commences on the chorus, the grand spirit of Sly and the Family Stone comes into play. A merry party ensues.

Then we get a hearty dose of the sleeker R&B tradition that edges Grey and company closer to Muscle Shoals. Somebody Else cues up the horns and organ for a sly, propulsive groove with Grey’s beefy singing in the driver’s seat. Later, 99 Shades of Crazy holds off on the brass initially so a weather-beaten electric piano run can establish a slightly chilled groove. Between the two, though, the skies clear for Tame a Wild One, a huge, brassy soul-pop celebration that smoothes a few creases out of Grey’s scratchy singing.

That’s essentially the pace This River runs at. For every dirty funk grind indicative of Mofro’s Florida roots there is a trek to the welcoming soul sanctuary of Alabama. Don’t be confused by Florabama, though. The tune’s title would seem to acknowledge the record’s Southern migration, but it clearly belongs in the funk camp.

The big thrill is saved for last. On This River’s title tune, Grey surrenders fully to the Muscle Shoals spirits with a musical roll call. The song starts as an acoustic meditation that measures a river’s motion and constancy against a story of more personal despondency. Then the organ chimes in. Then the brass. Finally, the vocals uproot and soar. Countless soul giants – Otis Redding is the most obvious – have run with such a game plan. Grey isn’t their league. But by respectfully dipping in the same musical stream, he fortifies Mofro with a soul charge as majestic and healing as the river he sings of.

The Jeremy Kittell Band, from left: Nathaniel Smith, Jeremy Kittell, Simon Chrisman and Josh Pinkham.

Near the end of a performance full of technical cunning, scholarly variety and especially keen ensemble intuition, Jeremy Kittel held his violin outward so all in the audience Tuesday night at the Weisiger Theatre of the Norton Center for the Arts in Danville could inspect the damage of his performance.

The instrument’s bridge was bent at a severe angle. That’s kind of like a swimmer unexpectedly discovering that he has broken his arm before a final competitive lap.

Luckily, nearly all of the concert’s heavy lifting was behind him at that point.

Kittel comes from a growing line of instrumentalists who use bluegrass inspiration (or, in his case, a variant of it) as a launching pad for compositions and improvisations rooted in jazz.

The compositional side favored lyrical warmth that retained a more plaintive side of bluegrass, as shown by The Curious Beetle Medley, which played nicely off the gentle antique tones of hammer dulcimer provided by Simon Chrisman. The show-opening Flight of the Mastadon played more extensively with timbre, tempo and harmony, with Kittel, cellist Nathaniel Smith and mandolinist Josh Pinkham shifting lead, rhythm and even percussive duties.

In terms of sheer fun and invention, nothing beat the chamber-style reimagining of the Jimi Hendrix anthem Hey Joe, which stripped the dulcimer of its fanciful charm and turned the song itself into a patient, folky meditation.

But what might be interpreted as strictly Americana inspiration in Kittel’s playing is really more global in nature. The performance regularly embraced traditional Irish music, be it overtly (as in the richly detailed The Foxhunter’s Reel) or more discreetly (as in a new untitled piece Kittel said was informed by the soul singing of Al Green and Bill Withers, even though it seemed to rely more on Celtic finesse).

With the bridge out, so to speak, the Kittel band encored not with a final blast of cross-generational, cross-continental string music, but with its lone vocal number: a retiring reading of Gillian Welch’s Hard Times.

In other words, after an evening of genre-hopping, globe-trotting and all manner of instrumental mischief, the group closed the show with unaccompanied four-part harmony singing. How curiously fitting.