It’s one thing to be a creative quadruple threat (film actor, stage actor, television actor, musician); it’s another thing entirely to excel as a quadruple threat for the better part of 43 years. From multiple Tony nominations—and wins—to starring roles on Fame and Treme, Michael Cerveris may be best known for his versatility as a thespian, but he proves just as formidable behind the mic on his long-awaited sophomore solo album, Piety. His sonic pedigree is unsurprisingly impressive, having shared the stage with the likes of the Breeders, Bob Mould, Teenage Fanclub and Frank Black. Cerveris will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read his MAGNET Feedback.
Cerveris: “That’s just the best thing about what we do, isn’t it? That you can just be going about your life and suddenly there’s something magical right in front of you.” That was the coolly breathless response I got from singer Liza Anne when I explained how I’d stumbled upon her gig that night on a random night off from filming in a strange town just looking to hear a little local music. It turned out she wasn’t local at all, but was just making a stop in this garage-turned-alcohol-free-all-ages-venue (we’re in Mormon territory, after all) called Kilby Court on a never-ending tour. Originally from the Georgia coast and currently based in Nashville, Liza Anne does her mining in a modern singer/songwriter vein that has rural roots and Anglophile longings. The night I chanced on her show with her band (including her secret weapon: guitarist Julian Dente), I might have written her off as another consciously unselfconscious indie girl in a black toboggan if I hadn’t been caught from the first song by the fearless honesty in her lyrics, the dispassionate (but not uncaring or unfeeling) eye she casts on her relationships and herself, and a rare sense of humor and joy in making music that in other singers often gets buried in angst and awkwardness. Instead, awkwardness and doubt seem sources of strength in Liza Anne’s music. A fierce sureness in the face of emotional uncertainty runs through the lyrics of her two records, especially “Rubble” and the title track from The Colder Months and “Overnight” from last year’s Two. Like a southern Sharon Van Etten with less artifice, Liza Anne live is a mercurial force whose biggest fear might just be the depth of her own power. And stumbling across her on a night when the small-yet-devoted gathering of Utah fans could have been an excuse to skip lightly through the set after a day in the van, it felt instead like she was singing and playing as though her life depended on it. And it was something magical. Right in front of me.
And even more magical—as riveting and transporting as her set was—the fact that she stood out front, not just for Dente’s solo set as Youth, but for the newly minted local band, Sorry, who were playing their first gig ever and cheered them on with not a hint of irony or condescension made me a fan before she even took to the stage. And once there, she was a quiet marvel.
Video after the jump.
