An artist I’d heard good things about without hearing too much of his music. I thought I’d better put that right…
Date: April 25, 2014
Seldom has a Bodega audience been so quiet as an appreciative unit, or as contemplative in unison as Texan troubadour Micah P. Hinson’s cerebral laments pour from his rusty guitar, acting as a conduit for his anti-establishment missives and plaintive odes.
He begins with Million Light Years, a song he wrote at the age of 16, five years after his father bought him his first guitar.
The song, like so many of his, is steeped in porch-lit pathos and is indicative of his grizzly Americana.
It’s just him and his knackered old guitar up there, coming across like Buddy Holly with a bad head and a soar throat.
In fact, he could play Holly in a biopic, capturing his early years with pained, sorrowful vocals – although not always in tune it’s fair to say; his southern drawl at times morphing into a shrill as he strains for high notes. But he has the look of a young Holly – glasses, slicked-back hair et al.
When he is eventually joined on stage it’s his wife who takes on the drumming role, as he assumes a disparate role on keys, giving the gig a much needed sonic diversion.
And when he goes electric, on How Are You, Just A Dream, it’s drenched in fuzz and reverb, recalling some of his early Sonic Youth influences.
Micah, with his inherent charm, wit and self-deprecation, holds the crowd’s attention sublimely, as they transfix their gaze on a true talent.