Rhett Miller
Rhett Miller’s performance at the Majestic Theatre was so intimate it could have taken place in his basement for a handful of his closest friends. Maybe it was because he feels at home here. “The closest thing to Austin, Texas, is Madison, Wisconsin,” he said early in the nearly two-hour show, comparing his host town to his home state’s lively capital.
Miller, a dramatic, passionate showman whose songs ask the listener to think, is closer in lyrical voice to David Foster Wallace than to Bob Dylan. His repertoire on this night was perfectly balanced between material from his solo records and from his work with the Old 97’s. “This Is What I Do” started the set with a wallop: “I’m gonna sing this song forever,” he crooned, turning a tune about a chosen career into one about a calling.
Miller’s a drama queen in the best sense of that phrase. His voice is at once both tough and plush, and his boyish stage demeanor gives all the more thrust to his stories of sex and lies. Cute as a button, he looks like a guy you’d be happy for your daughter to date, but the song “Singular Girl” makes you think twice. His delivery of it on this night was soaked in anxiety.
The clock is always ticking on Miller’s protagonists, and that only raises the tension within his story-songs. The crowd on the floor matched Miller head-bob-for-head-bob during a ferocious rendering of “Time Bomb”. A Martin D-28 was onstage all night but went untouched; instead, Miller stuck to his trusty, battered, 1980s-era Alvarez, its scarred rosewood body a cannon for his percussive play.
“Our Love” was an appeal to open doors and unlimited chance. Miller is a patient performer, confident in his material but never overly familiar with it. During this number, he looked sideways as he breathed in, appearing as if he were suspicious of what each new measure might bring. By the time he sang “Question”, the audience was ready for something down-tempo even if Miller wasn’t. Throttled down a bit, the song was still half-serenade and half-rally.
Rhett Miller sings “Question” in Madison, 2-7-09. (video by Kiki Scheuler)
Indeed, if there were any missteps in the program, it would have to be the absence of slower songs, those numbers that kill the audience in softer ways; “Salome” or “Bloomington” would have put the place over the brink. As it was, the Saturday-night partiers in the packed old theater definitely got their weekend on.
A blazing three-song encore cast the crowd out onto foggy, downtown streets in exactly the same condition as the weather: Humid. The snow was melting, sending rivers of fast-moving water into the curbsides and down the steep hill into Lake Monona.