Nicole Atkins & The Black Sea + Cotton Jones + The Damn Truth @ La Sala Rossa

Nicole Atkins, folk-rock artist, steps out on stage in a sparkling, skintight dress, the hems sloppily stitched and tapered to her knees. Her bangs are covering her smoky eyes as she struts – actually struts – to the microphone, evoking the most sex appeal and confidence I’ve ever seen an artist muster in a venue the size of La Sala Rossa. Clutching her tambourine, she defiantly croons, “They are no match for me,” and for a second the voices in my head stutter and collectively think, “Well. She can sing.” And then she sloppily crowns the tambourine on her head, and the voices think, “Aw, no.” It’s a fairly common thought throughout the rest of the evening.

We could start at the beginning when local act The Damn Truth took the stage. A rock act in every respect, The Damn Truth can play, both technically and energetically; but, from the second vocalist Lee-La (that’s it, just Lee-La) steps out on to the stage, with her shaggy hair, boots, and gypsy-esque off the shoulder dress, I’m confused. This is the episode from 30 Rock where Jenna auditions to be in the mock Janis Joplin biography, right? This isn’t a local girl with a unique voice and the desire to rock out – this is Jenna playing Janis, right? Every flinch, facial contortion, and screech is exaggerated to the point of being unnecessary, and the thing is that I just can’t take a bit of it seriously (please, don’t make me take this seriously). And that’s the damn truth*.

*the badness of this joke was brought to you in part by the badness of the band... nice

Next act is folk-pop act Cotton Jones, hailing from Cumberland, Maryland, U.S. of A. I was first introduced to this act under the moniker of Page France back in 2005 – a band that, to my delight, once produced music that I use to indifferently refer to as “pretty.” That was my savvy way of deeming something as listenable while acknowledging their lack of the extraordinary. That being said, Michael Nau and Whitney McGraw have comfortably transitioned out of their Indie Pop roots only to blossom again into the present folk duo of Cotton Jones. The two take the stage and play generously; Nau’s rough vocals cradle McGraw’s gentle backing vocals as she contentedly alternates between a piano and a xylophone.

Later, Atkins invites them on stage as backing vocals on desperate country jam “Cry Cry Cry.” Atkins, a singer-songwriter and self-taught guitar player, clearly holds a passion for what she does. The way she instinctively tackles the strings on her acoustic guitar, combined with the impressive lack of limits on her vocal pipes, demonstrates the fact that the young 32-year-old woman has been at this for a while. Her band has altered over the period of her career, once titled the Sea and now titled The Black Sea. Tonight they consist of leather pants wearing Irina Yalkowsky on guitar, shaggy haired Jeremy Kay on bass, and Vermont drummer Ezra Olkan. Despite her passion, Atkins ultimately possesses little desire to bring anything new on stage. She failed to take advantage of her live setting and instead opted to reproduce carbon copies of her professionally produced recordings. As a result, no matter how sparkly the dress or impressive the vocals, the performance fell a little flat. We knew what she was going to do, she knew what she was going to do, and we were all just watching her do it.

Vocals aside, Atkins’ performance is ultimately underwhelming. All reviews will posit a Roy Orbison comparison, which make sense but surely misses the mark. However, on “This Is For Love,” Atkins subtly, refreshingly and maybe accidentally strokes a hint of Patti Smith husk and courage, much to my appreciation. Not to say the woman lacks courage – while guitarist Yalkowskly visibly becomes uneasy at the sight of a drunken heckler, Atkins defiantly cuts him off with a “shut the fuck up” and gets on with her set list. That list, by the way, was loaded with both feminist empowerment and resentment, combined with the occasional dose of country-folk harmony. Highlight of the night? When she takes on a krautrock cover from 1972 (one of my favourite jams at that!): "Vitamin C" from Can’s 1972 album Ege Bamyasi. The thing I realized was that it didn’t really matter if I was digging the performance or not because either way Atkins sure was. The drunken heckler shouts out, “What’s your name, bitch?” and Atkins smiles, microphone to her lips, she responds, “I’m Nic, bitch.”

-Sruti I hosts Weird Era every Tuesday from 2-4pm