Ryan Chartrand
The Central Coast is well known for its scenic beauty, its tri-tip steak and its beaches, but what about its songwriters?
Last week at the Clark Center for the Performing Arts in Arroyo Grande, local musicians took part in the First Annual Central Coast Songwriter’s Festival, and it was a damn good time, for the most part.
The stage was decorated to look something like a coffee shop or a living room and created a warm and comfortable atmosphere which most of the artists’ music complimented. The night began with Jon Anderson, lead singer for the band Yes, who played a brilliantly charismatic solo acoustic guitar set.
His face pointed to the ceiling, eyes closed, he sang in his high-pitch Paul McCartney and Sting-like vocals, “There’s a time, and the time is right for me, it’s right for me, the time is now. There’s a word, and the word is love, and it’s right for me, it’s right for me, the word is love.”
In between songs he gave his take on songwriting.
“Songs are a little bit like butterflies, you take time and stick your hand out and wait. And the butterfly will come and land on your hand,” he said.
His songwriting was simple and effective, and when he ended his short set on a song by his band Yes, the audience sang backup while he carried the verse, “All we are saying is give peace a chance.”
After Anderson was the young part of the show. Two acts, Katie Boeck and Chase Emery, aged 18 and 19 respectively, showed the good and the bad of being a young songwriter. Boeck’s set showed maturity beyond her age, as well as decent songwriting, piano and guitar chops, whereas Emery’s set showed inexperience, and a lack of literally everything else that Boeck has going for her.
Boeck’s sound was jazzy and bluesy, but retained a pop sensibility. Her lyrics switched between simple and densely metaphoric.In one song she sang, “I’m just a simple girl who’s not trying to change to world, last thing I wanna do is have my cake and eat it too.”
Boeck was indeed a tough act to follow for Emery, who joked about being nervous as he took the stage with his acoustic guitar and then said something very clich‚: “I think this might be one of the sexiest crowds I’ve ever seen.”
His songs were all rife with hard, steely guitar strumming, and simple, sometimes nonsensical lyrics. When his lyrics were at their best, he often followed them with poor lyrics.
Two of his songs began with him strumming wildly and singing oooohs and aaaahs and other indiscriminate noises, and when you thought the lyrics were going to start, he repeated the oooohs and aaaahs.
The last things worth mentioning about Emery are one, his wack falsetto singing voice, and two, the fact that he is completely charisma-less on stage. He stood center stage the whole time with no emotion on his face at all. Then again, how can you be that into singing songs with lyrics like, “There’s a pill, a pill for everything, but there’s not one for love.”
Thanks to great planning, Damon Castillo rocked the stage immediately after Emery and resumed the good music portion of the evening.
Castillo began by telling the audience that people often ask him where he gets his inspiration for his songs from, and then they assume it’s some sort of life experience, but, “no, I take the easy way out; I just make it all up,” he said. And with that, he began his first song with his soulful, better than John Mayer vocals, “I’m so sorry I forgot to put the toilet seat down, I’m not used to having girls around. At least you didn’t drown.”
In between songs, Castillo likened songwriting to a physical itch, or some deep psychological compulsion. “Whether I’m supposed to be doing the dishes or paying the bills, a song comes and it’s like, eh, gotta scratch that itch.”
Castillo played his entire set with percussionist Jenneb Jenkinson, and brought out Christian Duchon on piano for one song and Larry Kim on saxophone for another. All were welcome additions to Castillo’s acoustic guitar. The set ended with possibly the best song of the night, a song called “Claim to Fame.”
Castillo sang, “It ain’t music if it’s just a number’s game,” and later, “I get high off chords and melody and when I die, I’m gonna take my guitar with me.”
At the end of the song, the chorus changed and Castillo sang, “That’s my claim to fame, making music with my family. That’s my claim to fame, making music really mean something to me.”
His simplistic songwriting never seemed dull or contrived, and his vocals and music provided tons of soul and depth. After Castillo was a short intermission and it was announced that the “veteran part of the show” was about to begin.
The veterans were Jay Horn, Jill Knight, and Jude Johnstone. Horn played a decent set though it was obvious he was a little nervous, he joked, “What a bunch of gifted people, at least up until now.”
And though he had a hard time remembering a verse to one song, he kept playing and his set didn’t lag because of it. His voice and guitar were both soothing, and his songwriting was definitely worthy of the veteran title.
Knight followed Horn and brought a more classic rock feel to the stage. She showcased excellent writing chops when she sang in an almost haunting tone, “when darkness is where you love you learn, the only thing you earn is loneliness.”
Her guitar playing was on point, and her voice was delicate at times, and often commanding. In fact, her presence on stage was one of authority; she didn’t just play to the audience, she took hold of them with her persona and moved them with her music, which at times was best described as pretty.
Johnstone, the last act of the night, was a stylistic departure from the music before, but fit the same songwriting vein as the others.
She played amazingly mellow piano alongside a stand up bass player whose parts were rhythmically similar to hers, and a trumpet player whose flourishes and solos pierced the easygoing vibe, but did not disrupt it.
Shortly after taking the stage, Johnstone shared that, “(Knight) and I both started our periods tonight,” adding, “I tend to get grouchy about halfway through my set and I don’t want you to get offended.”
Nothing about her music sounded grouchy; it was all smooth and her lyrics harkened back to the simple jazz standards sang by Ella Fitzgerald or Lena Horne, though Johnstone’s voice can’t compare.. Perhaps to flip off its axis a classic jazz song made famous by The Mills Brothers and Frank Sinatra called “Paper Doll,” she sang, “but you cannot blame her, because all she’ll ever be is a paper memory, nothing but a paper doll, that’s all.”
Johnstone ended the evening fittingly by singing, “It’s easy to play the fool, and it’s easy darlin’ to change the rules, but no matter what you say, it’s so hard to walk away.”
There were no calls for encores, but it was evident that the audience was satisfied with the buffet line of Central Coast songwriting they were presented. It is highly recommended that if given the chance, you go to a concert by any one of these artists, with the exception of Emery.