As relatively uninformed as I was about Jesse Malin, I showed up at just the right time to get schooled on his work. Unfortunately, I missed both openers. But it worked for me, as they would all show up in some capacity throughout the rest of the show.
The Fine Line was well under capacity, but not without its super-fans. There were guys in their element positioned by the front of the stage. One of them, whom I like to refer to as pointing guy, would point to Jesse and the band like he was playing invisible drums or conducting his own orchestra, blissed out and definitely drunk. After multiple visits by what became his very own security guy, maybe for getting too close to the stage, he got his last warning. With a confused look, bordering on upset and teetering towards belligerence, he would be escorted out, leaving me a bit sad. Behave yourself, pointing guy, and you could have stayed with us.
Jesse Malin's conversational performance style and warm stage manner was like hanging out with a friend. His lyrics and his Springsteen-esque way of delving into the core of the human experience impressed me. On his new album, Glitter in the Gutter, he actually has an duet with The Boss called "Broken Radio," with its beautiful lyrics that reminded me of myself and my radio-fed upbringing:
The angels love you more than you know
Raised on rivalry and Rock 'n Roll
Moving to the Motor City soul
She takes hold
On the radio
Guitarist Steve Dawson shredded like a maniac while maintaining his I'm-keeping-my-cool facial expression, not unlike Dinosaur Jr's J. Mascis, but without all the flying hair. Two of the best performances of the night would come off of his Ryan Adams-produced debut The Fine Art of Self-Destruction: "Brooklyn," with it's wistful recital, and "Wendy," yet another one of his brokenhearted tales of woe from the dating front lines.
The night had its multitude of covers, clocking in at four, with a lot of them taking up the encore. There was "You Can Make Them Like You" by The Hold Steady, and The Flaming Lips' "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots," with the members of Acute and The Wildbirds joining him on stage for a tight, if not slightly messy spectacle. A sweet and very mellow cover of Harry Nillson's "Everybody's Talking" went along with his cover of The Replacements' "Bastards of Young," off the new album, took place earlier in the show. Before playing the latter, he instructed everyone to take a seat on the floor of the Fine Line. Sitting in the middle of the crowd, he began his cabaret-style version, and instructed all to sing along. People timidly sang along. This is Minneapolis, people. Land of The Replacements - you should have fucking belted it out. At least, so I could have sang louder, and not heard myself embarassingly (and noticeably) off-key.
Admittedly, the show ended on a tamer note than I'd expected. But in my first-timer's meeting with him, he gained another fan - another occasionally-brokenhearted fool who can appreciate his music. He has come a long way since fronting punks D Generation, but that same passionate essence is still there. His hair might look better, and his throat feel better at the end of the night, but his heart is always in the right place.
