When our writer, Kelli Nastasi, reviewed Jonathan Richman’s show in Paris, France this spring, she had it exactly right: the guy is channeling spirits from a faraway place. His whole being is simply otherworldly—suddenly inspired lyrics, impromptu instrumentation, and dance moves from another dimension, to say nothing of his quiet and hilarious stage banter. Unfortunately, one of the unexpected elements of the evening included the fact that after 10:00, the show that was billed as doors at 8:00, music at 9:00, still hadn’t commenced.
After waiting for over an hour in a sweltering, packed crowd at the Mohawk, fans were getting a bit restless. So, when Richman flanked by drummer Tommy Larkins made his way onto the stage at almost 10:30, the crowd erupted into grateful, exuberant applause. Everyone was willing to forget all about the delay now that the legend was before them. Richman opened the set with a sprawling, funny version of “Let Her Go Into the Darkness,” to widespread audience approval. Three chords into the next track, he stopped cold. “Let me ask you a question. Can everyone hear out there?” A band had begun playing at Club Deville and wasn’t overbearingly loud, but could clearly be heard alongside Richman’s quiet classical guitar, sparse drums, and gentle croon.
The crowd roared back their answer: that they could hear just fine. But Richman persisted. “Well you all paid for a ticket and you need to be able to hear.” A random audience member or a few shouted, “We can hear!”
“No, you can’t hear what I want you to hear. I want you to be able to hear this,” Richman continued. Someone yelled, “Turn it up!” Richman’s response: “I don’t turn it up. That would just be fightin’ and I don’t fight.” Bear in mind that this whole exchange is occurring between a hot, already delayed Texas crowd on a Friday night, and an aging rock legend who speaks a decibel levels almost inaudible. So after a few more exchanged equally as circular, Richman left the stage and promised to try to work it out. Eventually, the stage manager assured the crowd that the venues were working it out and that the show would be happening.
After another 30 minute wait, Richman returned with renewed and even more vigorous, youthful excitement gazing, glassy-eyed into the distance. From there the set became everything for a Jonathan Richman show is known. During the first song back onstage, Richman stepped to the left of the mic to do circling high kicks and shimmy like a crazed salsa dancer. He is 61, in the event that you’re wondering. Throughout his often improvised renditions of classic “Girlfriend,” upbeat pop tune “My Baby Loves Loves Loves Me,” and crows favorite “I Was Dancing in the Lesbian Bar,” Richman would step aside to spin, swirl, and shake sleighbells with reckless abandon.
At one point in the night, Richman made a brief aside to a younger incarnation of himself who would never stop pestering the Velvet Underground. Richman is the creative force behind some of punk’s most seminal and greatest albums, but seeing him now transcends that. Sure, it’s great to see such a luminary and important musical artist. However, Richman’s current live show bears intrinsic importance; it’s a wild, joy-inspiring experience that this writer recommends seeing as soon and as often as you can.
