The evolution between generations and practitioners can be a matter of small degrees or great leaps, but the clear, direct expression of self — in whatever stylistic mode befits the message — is the throughline, the animating force propelling the genre, and all of its attendant splinter factions and offshoots, forward.
A superb case in point can be found in the person of Sarah Jarosz, who spent 100 minutes Friday night at a sold-out Kessler Theater illustrating precisely how her own artistic growth is indebted to folk music traditions, even as it grows thrillingly beyond the genre’s (admittedly porous) borders.
A day removed from turning 33, the Austin native, making her return to the Kessler after two years, worked through nearly all of her recently released studio album, the Daniel Tashian-produced Polaroid Lovers, backed by the ace trio of guitarist-vocalist Seth Taylor, bassist Daniel Kimbro and drummer Aksel Coe. By turns breezy and bracing, Jarosz has deepened and broadened her sound so thoroughly from its Hill Country roots — she can still summon Old Testament storm clouds (as she did during “Annabelle Lee,” from her 2011 LP Follow Me Down), but is equally comfortable dipping into sophisticated, jazz-tinged pop (“Columbus & 89th,” from Polaroid Lovers) as she is shadow-stippled trip-hop (an often mesmerizing rendition of Massive Attack’s “Teardrop”).
Such is Jarosz’s gift — and her luminous alto voice, supple or spiky, crooning or calling out — that she can bend her skill in service of just about any mood she fancies. The capacity crowd, bunching down close to the stage, which was adorned with an enormous backdrop of Polaroid photos and a handful of electric candles scattered between the musicians and the gear, was often struck silent, absorbing the beauty unfolding before them.
A Worthy Group Effort
And as impressive as Jarosz was from start to finish, so, too, were her collaborators: Taylor, in particular, provided exquisite vocal harmonies and tore off multiple guitar solos throughout the night that were dizzying in their intricacy and overwhelming in their impact, frequently eliciting rowdy shouts of approval from the darkness. Coe kept crisp time with sticks, brushes and his palms, providing a near-constant heartbeat to the songs, joined by Kimbro’s own diligent timekeeping, alternating between electric and stand-up bass. (In a wryly funny touch, all three men wore T-shirts adorned with ‘90s female country legends — Shania Twain, Deana Carter and Faith Hill: “You have really good vintage stores here,” Taylor deadpanned.)
The evening ebbed and flowed pleasantly — the opening act, Nashville singer-songwriter Liv Greene, set the tone early with a frequently gorgeous, slyly amusing set of songs — and built to a moment which only drove home the ever-lengthening continuum upon which Jarosz has built her career and found her voice.
Jarosz opened the encore by noting “it was my birthday yesterday, and it’s Bob Dylan’s birthday today.” (The icon turned 83 on May 24.) “Growing up, my dad was always like, ‘If you’d just waited four more hours, you could have shared a birthday with Bob Dylan,” Jarosz cracked.
“I’ve sung this song more than any other, and I never get tired of singing it,” she said, by way of introducing Dylan’s “Ring Them Bells,” a song from Oh Mercy, an album released two years before Jarosz was born, but which, at the time, marked a rebirth of sorts for Dylan. Folk music is nothing if not an ever-unfolding series of discoveries and discardings.
“Ring them bells, for the time that flies,” goes a line in the song, and one that landed with particular force Friday. The immensely talented Jarosz is an artist of this moment, even as she transcends it.
That is the beauty of embracing the fullness of folk music’s possibilities, accepting the weight and responsibility of history, even as she adds her own colors and textures, moving ever forward, deftly stitching herself into the great grand tapestry of song.
