Matt Nathanson: the anti-rock star
Phillip Sparer, Entertainment Columnist
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Tonight the cramped, concrete tent that is the Larimer Lounge is Matt Nathanson's turf. A man who had previously stolen shows from established acts like Train and Howie Day now has the venue, and its audience, all to himself. But he and his band, quite literally, are cornered. They are wedged in the tiny back corner of the Lounge, brick wall behind them, wall of skin and half-raised drinks in front, with barely enough room for the band and their instruments on the cinderblock stage.
About an hour before the show I had an opportunity to interview Matt. Here's some of the dirt I dug up: he is married to a woman he's known thirteen years. He claims he doesn't drink and has never smoked anything. Prior to the show, his hair had been sloppily mopped, and he was dressed in faded jeans and a lasagna-stained t-shirt. Lounging on the patchwork couch, he's laid-back and somewhat reserved compared to his bandmates, three of whom pace anxiously around the upstairs room with a cellphone glued to their ear, and the fourth who constantly tunes and retunes his bass. Taking in that scene, I dub Nathanson the anti-rockstar.
But now as he takes the stage, Matt Nathanson is on the prowl. His auburn hair spiked into a mohawk, a nose ring piercing his left nostril, and a beat-up acoustic guitar slung haphazardly over his shoulder, Matt could be the badass, tequila-slugging rocker; and the fifty-some-odd fans probably would eat it up. But I know better. And as a sheepish grin forms on Matt's lips, I sense for the first time that he truly knows what he's doing, and I prepare for the best.
I notice that, quite ironically, the mohawk has been carefully, coolly sculpted, and a navy blue, cowboy-collared button down and brown, "flattering" corduroys replace his formerly grungy garb. He is witty and begins almost every song with a smooth smirk and the occasional penis joke.
Matt's status as both entertainer and artist allows him to get away with fashions that others not blanketed by the spotlight would be ridiculed for. In the song "Then I'll Be Smiling" Nathanson sings wistfully, revealing a hope that, "Once I shed the whole of me/ Then I'll be smiling". The anti-rock star blends with the rock star as he combines the same self-effacing introspection that endears listeners to his music with his alter ego's unabashed antics. When Nathanson launches into the set with his tongue-in-cheek rocker, "Lucky Boy", the crowd suddenly breaks into karaoke mode, all hands raised in unison, fervently clapping along to the chorus, "It's a cruel world/ And I am a lucky boy".
The maturity and depth of Nathanson's songwriting meshes with his boyish, confident masculinity (which is absent from many of his songs but is now providing the audience a bit more bang for its buck). Compromise? Therapy? Either way, or perhaps because of both, the show is a raucous success.
Check out Matt Nathanson next week, as he plays three shows in three days, all within an hour's drive of campus: November 3 at the Bluebird Theatre, November 4 at the Aggie Theater in Fort Collins, and November 5 at the Fox Theatre in Boulder. Tickets are $10 at the Bluebird and the Aggie, and $12 at the Fox.