The
Waifs' eclectic style transcends genres
The Waifs/Erin McKeown
Paradise, Boston, Massachusetts
November 5, 2004
by Marc Hirsh
originally published in The Boston Globe, November 8, 2004
The “File Under: Pop” legend above the barcode on
the back
of Up All Night (Jarrah) is a vague
designation, but it may be the only one broad enough to fit the Waifs,
who draw
from folk, country and other roots music sources without ever fitting
into the
boxes traditionally dictated by them. Led by sisters Donna and Vikki
Simpson
and guitarist Joshua Cunningham, the five-piece Australian band came
across
like a mix of Nickel Creek without the bluegrass foundation and the
Corrs
without the gloss at the
The opening “Highway One” found Donna singing lead
and
Cunningham getting off an effortlessly stunning acoustic solo, but
whether by default
or design, Vikki was quickly revealed as the group’s focus. Despite a
fairly
unassuming stage position, often perched on a chair off to the right
and subtly,
if impressively, playing harmonica, she handled most of the stage
banter,
introduced the members of the band and sang songs like “Lighthouse” and
“Flesh
And Blood” in a remarkable voice as soulfully expressive as fellow
Aussie Kasey
Chambers but a little softer.
Still, the attention commanded by Vikki seemed
driven not by
ego but by what was best for the song, and bolstered by the Simpsons’
gorgeous
family harmonies, the Waifs showed similar restraint throughout their
performance. The sisters picked up or put down guitars as necessary and
even
left the stage completely when they weren’t needed, resulting in a
fluid lineup
that provided the band with the flexibility to follow or defy genres at
their
will.
There were times, unfortunately, when many in the
audience didn’t
seem to get it, and the band’s crisp, clear sound made the constant
undercurrent
of chatter especially noticeable in quieter songs like “London Still.”
That
wasn’t as much of a problem for opener Erin McKeown, whose
enthusiastically
received 40-minute performance, alone on stage and brandishing an
electric
guitar, was a huge departure from the fairly ornate pop production of
her most
recent album, Grand (Nettwerk).
Her sparse instrumentation and her political
comments made
her resemble Ani DiFranco, and she offered up her songs as a form of
post-election
catharsis before ending her set by flipping her instrument over to
reveal a
sticker bearing the Woody Guthrie inscription, “This machine kills
fascists.” Such
moments were leavened with an amiable goofiness, as she introduced one
song as
being about “love and adaptations for flight” and demonstrated a
tendency to
step back from the microphone during an instrumental section and sing
nonsense
syllables just barely loud enough to be picked up. If her efforts
seemed unable
to rouse anybody but the faithful, she was in good company last week.