Fred Eaglesmith brings his bad self to the Kuumbwa on Friday, Feb. 21.
Is Fred Eaglesmith the man? There’s no sabermetrics for this kind of thing, but let’s take a look at the way the Canadian singer-songwriter, who comes to the Kuumbwa for two shows on Friday, Feb. 21, has subverted expectations, convention and straight-up common sense at every turn.
After coming out of the folk scene, and then finding a faithful following in alt-country with songs like “Time to Get a Gun,” “Wilder Than Her” and about 847 kickass train tunes, the guy’s switched up his sound time and time again, including an old-timey, bizarro-gospel masterpiece (Tinderbox), a Latin album (Cha Cha Cha) and a new rock record (Tambourine) that sounds like it was beamed in from 1966.
Basically, he does whatever the hell he wants. So yeah, you could be forgiven for thinking Fred Eaglesmith is the man. But you know who doesn’t think that? Fred Eaglesmith.
“There’s too much self-esteem now,” says Eaglesmith by phone from the road in the Southwest, where he’s just finished getting his hands dirty changing the filter in his bio-fueled bus. “All you have to do is go to Whole Foods and you’ll see too much self-esteem. It’s horrible.”
All around him, he says, he sees an I’m-the-man attitude that’s been spiraling out of control for decades. Lucky for him, he’s got a little bit of zen practice, and a whole lot of being Canadian.
“I’m not the man,” asserts Eaglesmith. “Bob Dylan’s the man. Charles Bukowski’s the man. I haven’t written Blonde on Blonde, or Bukowski’s poetry. I’ll take my place at the table. But I might be the waiter.”
Eaglesmith isn’t naïve enough to think that fans of, say, Drive-In Movie or Lipstick, Lies & Gasoline are going to follow him on whatever musical left-turn he makes. “I lose a lot of people,” he says.
In fact, it almost seems like he’s trying to, right? Well…yeah.
“All I’m trying to do is stay away from popularity,” he says. “It’s embarrassing. I always tell the band ‘I hope we don’t catch on.’”
People often ask him why he hasn’t chosen an easier path, but the question doesn’t even make sense to him. “When did rock & roll ever become easy?” he asks.
But talk with Eaglesmith for a while and you’ll realize that he doesn’t do things the way he does just to be contrarian. He isn’t throwing away some hypothetical potential career success just to be different. He’s searching for the most authentic artistic experience he can possibly bring to his music, and his fans. When he talks about being on the road, playing to a couple of hundred people a night at most, he has four words: “You can’t download this.”
The live show has evolved into the heart of the Eaglesmith experience. Regularly attended by his loyal fanbase known as Fredheads, and punctuated by his almost stream-of-consciousness humor, it’s where his songs from every era get blended together. He’s made strong albums throughout his career, but I’d argue that with its jagged riffs and stripped-down edge, his 2001 live album Ralph’s Last Show—recorded in Santa Cruz, as a matter of fact—is probably the record that best showcases the raw passion of his artistry. I’m good with whatever it takes to keep him in touch with that.
“I’ve been not-rich all my life, and I’m probably never going to be rich,” he says. “You want the joy account full, the happiness account full. How do you fill the happiness account? I’ll tell you. Do something different.”
So yeah, Fred Eaglesmith is the man.
Fred Eaglesmith performs two shows at the Kuumbwa in Santa Cruz on Fri, Feb. 21, $25; 7pm & 9pm.
