The last time I went to Tangiers, almost two years ago, it was a bit of a disaster. A few weeks before at my first Beverly Hills party, filled primarily with public defenders, the hostess (a woman named Romina) had played matchmaker and set me up with her friend, another lawyer and a part-time aerobics instructor. We made plans to see Trespassers William at Tangiers on a Friday night. I waited inside for the entire show, and she never appeared, never called, never texted, and I never heard from her again.
A month or two later, I ran into Romina at jury duty after we were both dismissed from the panel for a drunk driving case. After a spirited discussion, much to the entertainment of the remaining jury pool, I learned that as usual, I was the asshole. My poor date had been waiting outside, unable to get in because the show had sold out, while I sat inside completely oblivious to the concept that a show could actually, you know, sell out.
I discovered Willoughby primarily because I was looking for an excuse to see another show at Tangiers. It was nice to have a chance to head back, although it’s a bit different, and disappointingly so. There used to be some kind of backdrop or artwork behind the stage that added quite a bit to the atmosphere. Now it’s just a plain red wall. Otherwise, it’s still a pretty classy place to have a decent meal and see a low-key show. The room fits at most a hundred people, and it’s the sort of place where people are much more likely to sit on the floor rather than stand in front of the stage.
Willoughby is one of those bands that’s primarily driven by one person – guitarist and vocalist Gus Seyffert, in this case. I’m not entirely sure what would be the best way to categorize his music, but it definitely seemed a bit misplaced for him to be sandwiched between a pair of alt-country* acts, Bukka Allen preceding and Lenly afterwards. We heard most of Bukka Allen’s set and while the music was competently written and performed, his lyrics were predictable and trite (“madness/sadness,” etc.).
Gus has an interesting sort of low-key charisma that’s perfect for a place like Tangiers. He writes the sort of subdued songs that make you wish that smoking was still allowed indoors; it felt entirely appropriate that I was sipping a Manhattan during Willoughby’s set. (more…)
