Lucinda Williams once observed that most singer-songwriters "make a virtue of their limitations."
The existence of Alabama-drenched singer-songwriter John Paul White raises the question: What if there are no limitations?
White fairly mesmerized an audience Thursday night at South on Main. But one of the things about hypnotism is that the subject must be willing.
Which is to say that you could resist White. That would be your loss, but it's possible. He possesses the sort of high lonesome voice that elicits immediate comparisons to Roy Orbison and Chris Isaak. And he obviously has a deep and abiding affection for the traditions of real country music, which is to say his songs aren't hung on meme-ish one-liners but aspire toward the bone-penetrating poetry of Hank Williams. A high standard.
But let's be clear, technology has a way of leveling talent. White is a spooky good singer and a guitar player who's really canny about finding his key -- his sometimes deep-capoed fingerpicking is inspiring. And his aspiration -- he wants to write songs that rip your heart out, and he's sought out some of the best (Bill Anderson and Bobby "He Stopped Loving Her Today" Braddock) as mentors and songwriting partners. His earnest striving to crush your heart is touching, affecting and -- live, in concert, at least -- damn effective.
But, like Paul McCartney and Brian Wilson, to kick in some obvious but not completely out-of-left-field hyperbole, his lyric writing hasn't quite caught up with his sense of melody and his uncanny vocal abilities.
At least not yet.
The easy way to write any review like this is to talk about his resume: his time in Civil Wars, then his acclaimed solo album Beulah. But JPW is, at 46, still a young artist, still a growing thing. There's a real sense that he's getting better. That he wants to.
He's the perfect artist for a venue like Little Rock's South on Main, which can provide an environment where the customers pay attention, sit rapt and allow the singer-songwriter to try out new material. Sure, a handful of songs are recognizable, but when White played new material, he made that crowd feel privileged. And sure, that might be showmanship.
It might be just the move of a slick entertainer. But if so, bravo, JPW. You fooled me. It felt like something genuine.
Which is the devil's greatest trick. Only it happens; sometimes you are allowed to watch someone working stuff out in public.
And let's not pretend that the showstoppers weren't the opening a cappella version of Frank Ifield's "I Remember You" (made quasi-famous by Tony Bennett) or the late-set version of Jeff Lynne's "Can't Get It Out of My Head." White might wish it otherwise, but as my wife told me as we were leaving, "I would really like to see his next show."
Metro on 11/16/2018