Emma Ruth Rundle. Words I overheard after a performance of such a caliber are things like, “Now THAT’S a real musician.”
Every so often, and rarely, humans get the privilege of witnessing phenomena: Shooting stars, crop circles, skinny Americans that don’t listen to their government. And Emma Ruth Rundle, touring her new album Some Heavy Ocean.
Don’t make the obvious mistake I did by seeing what Pitchfork has to say.
I’ll tell you that all of her darknesses are enough, that her lyrics of deliverance from self-inflicted evils are perfect.
From her delicate, powerful hands, to the tasteful way she used her pedals (The Edge could certainly benefit from such a reality check), her guitar tone was sodden with emotive style, yet gritty and heavy, demanding musical respect.
The crowd was wholly enchanted; she thanked them for being so attentive. You got the feeling the crowd was comprised of musicians or people who at least were capable of comprehending the craft, unlike most of our drone-peers.
I’ve also never been to Bar Le Ritz, now that it’s been changed from Il Motore. Don’t be intimidated from the cliche, stuffy name. The bar is warm, open, friendly, clean and doesn’t reek like a fermented, pukey keg like most of our charming Plateau shit-holes.
Emma Ruth Rundle, you sent us all home, reaching for our guitars and our wallets to buy your album. You’re it.