the Cowl - Arts & Entertainment

Issue: 03/21/02

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Kevin O'Rourke's guide to brooding

By Dan Devine

A lot of people don't have the opportunity to experience good live music on a regular basis. Luckily, we go to school in New England, a region jam-packed with great venues and great bands to play them. For a number of reasons though (lack of publicity, weak word of mouth, no desire to travel farther than your local watering hole, etc.), a lot of the bands don't get seen or heard. As a public service, we at The Cowl have taken the liberty of scoping out some local acts, separating the caviar from the fish eggs, and presenting you with a series of features showcasing the best of the bunch, the bands you should think about checking out. This is the first such feature.

There are some things that just make sense as soon as you come into contact with them. There's a comprehension of what's going on and whether it's good or bad long before you can explain it in words. Something just clicks and you get it.

I got Lo Fine the first time I saw them play.

It was last November, and I trekked out to the Flywheel in Easthampton, MA, with a couple of friends to see Chris Collingwood, the former lead singer of Fountains of Wayne. We got there a little early, not knowing who the opening bands were and not really caring, so long as we'd get to hear "Survival Car" and "Radiation Vibe" and be indie pop dorks in a whole 'nother state. I walked through the door and the first thing I heard was the distinct twang of a pedal steel guitar. Upbeat indie pop, this wasn't. Later, I'd meet and speak with Bruce Tull, the man behind the twang. Then, I just sat down and listened attentively.

I found out that the antithetical openers were called Lo Fine, that they hailed from nearby Northampton, and that they were fronted by a talented songwriter named Kevin O'Rourke, whose smooth vocals and understated guitar playing took center stage throughout the set. It was the first time in a long time I had been more impressed by an opening act than by the headliner.

Something about that introduction stuck with me, but it wasn't until this past weekend that the comprehension gave birth to words and I felt like I could actually say why I like Lo Fine, and why you should too: everything about them, from the people playing the instruments, to the songs they've written, to the way they perform, both live and on record, is just so refreshingly honest.

In a music landscape littered with next big things and bloated senses of self-importance, it's easy to forget just how important sincerity is in writing a good song. It's even easier to overlook the artists that write honestly because their number pales in comparison to the ranks of sugary pop princesses and tattooed tough guys we see every day on TRL. But if you're lucky enough to listen to an album written by one of those sincere songwriters, and you can let yourself take it to heart, its undeniable beauty will expose the princesses and tough guys for the jokes they really are. Nine, Lo Fine's first full-length effort, is one of those albums.

I'm not saying that Nine does anything patently innovative, because it doesn't; it features no ambient sounds or quadruple-tracked vocal loops or any other fancy sonic diversions. While some might scoff at the bare bones and, well, lo-fi approach, it speaks volumes about the band. There aren't any cover-up sounds because there's nothing to cover up.

There's absolutely no filler on Nine – every sound, every word, every vocal strain is intended as an open letter to the listener, an in-road to the heart and mind of Kevin O'Rourke. The supporting cast of multi-instrumentalist Tull (pedal steel, baritone guitars, lead guitar), Thane Thomsen (bass), Mark Schwaber (guitar, backup vocals), and Brian Marchese (drums) is an impressive one. A gifted group of musicians whose skill and experience – Tull was formerly of the critically acclaimed Scud Mountain Boys, the rhythm section comes from Northampton stalwarts The Figments, and Schwaber fronts the solid pop outfit Hospital – bring O'Rourke ever closer to realizing the potential promised in his songs.

And, as they should be, the songs are the thing with Lo Fine, both live and in the studio. They're straight-up good songs, understated songs about relationships and internal struggles, smart songs that are at times brutal and self-deprecating, harsh songs that always seem to end with a defeated shrug of the shoulders and a call for another round of beers. O'Rourke's lyrical strength powers tracks like "Stay In Bed," where he brashly dismisses responsibility while making us wonder if he really wants to or if he's just doing so out of habit ("as far as making my life forever, I can do it, but it's extra effort / so you can just deal with what I can get together"), and "Thanks for Asking," where he takes a swing at rock 'n' roll posing by proclaiming himself "the fakest, outfakin' all the fakers."

At a recent show at The Living Room, a small club in New York City, Lo Fine performed some new material from their follow-up album, already in the works. On one of the new tunes, O'Rourke sings, "I have hopes, but only the hopes of somebody with bad aim." In the mouths of some of those "fakers," that line would sound like a swooning attempt at an easy way out of being accountable for the way you live. Here though, it sounds genuine, like O'Rourke is so beaten down by self-disdain that he can't aspire to anything beyond working a lousy part-time job and playing to a bar full of disinterested drunks. Here, you believe that he believes he made the wrong choice and, as a result, his hopes are worth exactly squat. Here you get an indication of just how good Lo Fine can be when Kevin O'Rourke is on his game.

Because they haven't been handpicked for mainstream success or groomed for radio greatness, it's not likely that Nine will bump Lo Fine up into a higher level of clubs and cash, but if there's any justice out there, it should result in some credibility. It's a consistently open album, as good on the fifteenth listen as it is on the first, and there haven't been many records of late that can make that claim. More often than not, the vocals and instrumentation are pitch perfect, and where they aren't, it's actually sort of charming, like watching a toddler stagger as he takes his first steps. After all, that's what Nine is: a snapshot of a songwriter's first serious move forward and a real indication that rock music can grow up if we're willing to let it.

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-- Dan Devine