So the wife of the brother of the guy that my brother is going on tour in LONDON with this Thanksgiving came to play in Cambridge last night. She opened for Peter Mulvey, an Irish Catholic singer-songwriter with a growling baritone and a penchant for impressions, guitar tricks, political humor and other liberal intellectual stuff (pokes at Edvard Munch and Lord Byron, angry ranting against the institution that is TV).
Devon Sproule (pron: Sproll like roll and troll and boll) was tiny and delicate and lovely; not a manhandler of the guitar and exploiter of the voice like Ani Difranco, but a plaintive, humble coaxer and whacker of the guitar and a whimsical plucker and stretcher of her voice.
I'm a walking advertisement, I know, but it's always a bittersweet thing to know the opener of the show and not the main event. I get a little bit resentful of the main act, wondering why Devon has to play a humble little set to polite applause when Mr. Mulvey gets a full, whooping crowd. Anyway, her stuff is on iTunes for the buying. E-mail me and I'll give you a song preview, if you like, and then you can buy! All of a sudden I'm into this whole support musicians and artists by buying their shit.
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In other news, I think I've given up a $30+ Ani Difranco concert in favor of a $20 student rush ticket to the Kirov Ballet's production of Swan Lake. I wish I was around 10 years ago when she was still hopping folk clubs, open mics, opening acts or small headlines; I don't think I'd dig seeing her through binoculars 100 yards away, but all she plays are theaters now, and for over $30 a pop. Oh well, everyone's got to eat; I guess she's earned her feast.
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