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Phosphorescent, Flicker, 5/10/06

by The Bridge
05/19/2006

These days Phospherescent, once a well-liked local band of alt-folk tunesmiths, consists of vocalist/guitarist/pianist/toe-tapper Matthew Houck - and no one else. I don't really know the guy, and I've heard that the disbanding of the other fellows was not an entirely hunky-dory situation, so I didn't really feel like asking about it last Wednesday, when I took in his solo set at the Flicker Bar & Theater. Houck's stage presence, much like the lyrics, is somewhat centered on vulnerability; I'll bet even his best friends were remiss to mention anything about his recent trials.

He's kind of a fun set of contradictions: wearing a vest of Christmas lights, he's hardly a shrinking violet onstage, but he maintains an air of timidity, always asking the audience for song suggestions, as if the thought of composing a set list overwhelms him. Without a band to back him up, the rhythms to his songs are noticeably more jerky, but this isn't an entirely detrimental thing. While Phosphorescent's material has always stuck to the sad side of the street, this most recent incarnation features Houck's near-tears vocals much more prominently (total absence of drums or bass will do that), and the effect is an even stronger emotional underscore.

I have to be honest, though (it's part of the job). I liked Phosphorescent better as a band. This is not to say that I think Houck sucks by himself. On the contrary, he was obviously always the driving force of his band's trademark sound, and he carries it with him. But Houck's songs are just so wonderful when they are shaped with the kind of dynamics and majesty that you just can't get without some sort of accompanyment. Too many of the songs last Friday started out promisingly, but meandered off without satisfying closure.

I can't help but think that Houck is a Simon in search of a Garfunkel. Perhaps his upcoming collaborations with Madeline will be the answer, or maybe someone could kidnap him and lock him in a room with Geoff Reacher for a week and see what happens. Or maybe I just need to be patient. When you break up with a longtime lover, it takes a while to remember how you used to do things. Friday's show felt like watching a fresh divorcee trying to dance at a disco, if the divorcee were, say, John Travolta. You know he's got the skills, but the moves are a little dated, a little rusty.