Live Review: Kurt Vile, Mick Turner

As Mick Turner lackadaisically wanders onto stage, he’s immediately dwarfed by the massive stage and high ceilings of the ornate Lyric Theatre, but takes that in his barefoot stride and sets upon constructing a series of haunting, sometimes ramshackle soundscapes.

The guitarist can usually be found safe in the confines of the Dirty Three but on his lonesome he uses loops to capture basic percussion and guitar lines, the resultant shimmering instrumentals far less visceral than his day job but no less enjoyable. He manipulates pedals and gently bends guitar notes to build tension and atmosphere, the three divergent pieces he offers in his 40-minute slot forming the perfect precursor for what lies ahead.

It’s a very formal setting for Philadelphia singer-songwriter Kurt Vile to show off his wares (it’s hard to believe it’s nearly six years since he first visited Brisbane and rocked the grungy Valley room Woodland with his band The Violators) but the shaggy-haired muso wanders affably into the cavernous room and seems unfussed by his surroundings as he opens with the beautifully stripped-back Feel My Pain, playing with the pitch and inflection of his voice to create sonic variations. His acoustic finger-picking is dexterous and suits songs like All In A Daze Work down to the ground, and he too uses subtle guitar loops to cover for the fact that creatively he’s all on his lonesome in this huge room.

It’s all quite laid-back, to the point you can tell that a song’s over when Vile just stops playing guitar and then kicks off the loop pedal ushering in sudden silence, and the songs take on a more freeform vibe here, to the benefit of recent tunes like Pretty Pimpin and Wild Imagination (which he jokes in the intro to have written about Brisbane). The singer doesn’t proffer much between songs in the way of audience interaction (the rare times he speaks are usually to profess his love to the crowd, which seems completely sincere), strumming through Wakin On A Pretty Day then sitting down with a banjo for a couple of rustic tracks (including pithy unreleased track Don’t Bite).

He grabs his trusty acoustic again and runs through older faves Runners Up and Blackberry Song — his cosmic lyrics slightly more to the fore in this setting, tropes about dreams, friends and family popping up at regular intervals — then asks for requests and somehow pulls My Best Friends (Don’t Even Pass This) from amongst the shouted responses. Vile’s goofy demeanour and at-times childlike voice (offset by the occasional yelp or other vocal exhortation) prove captivating and the show soars despite little in the way of visual support, simply the strength of his charisma and powerful roots tunes like He’s Alright and Stand Inside enough to demand attention.

Older tune Best Love gets an airing — sounding both fragile and slightly discordant with this treatment — before the main set finishes with a rousing run through of Dust Bunnies, Vile raising his acoustic above his head in a scruffy one-handed salute as wanders into the offstage darkness. The applause is relatively muted but he returns for a cursory encore anyway, throwing in Peeping Tomboy to finish what is ultimately a strong solo performance. Holding court in a big room by yourself is no easy feat, and tonight Kurt Vile adds another string to his already impressive bow with a show that’s light on formalities but heavy on fun and vibe.