M. Ward Rewards Fans

Matt Ward stood in the back corner of the Somerville Theatre last Sunday night, sipping a drink and smiling in the dark. Dressed, like those around him who would soon be his audience, in the requisite apparel of the nebulous “indie-folk” genre (flannel, baseball caps), he clapped politely as Oakley Hall, the opening act, crooned and clapped their way through an enjoyable, if overly loud, 40 minute set.

Ascending to the stage brought about no change in his temperament. Crouched over the keyboard, he leaned heavily on his chords, pressing his weight into them as he murmured into the microphone. Later, he would go on to play a near-perfect set, surpassing expectations and revealing a few surprising talents not exhibited on his studio albums, the latest of which, “Post-War,” he is on tour promoting. Still, for a few minutes, in the milky darkness of the classic theatre, he was just another audience member – just a regular guy.

This, above all, might be what defines Matt (or M.) Ward: his honest demeanor underscores all his words and playing. His heart isn’t quite on his sleeve, but there is a rawness to his soft-voiced lamentations – or celebrations, as “Post-War” is apparently an album written while in the throes of a new relationship.

“Oh – I’ll be true to you/ Oh yeah, you know I will,” he sang in the concert’s opener, a cover of Daniel Johnston’s “To Go Home” that appears on the new album. Johnston, known to be brazenly open about love and loss alike, is channeled by Ward in a way that can only be described as tentative – not reluctant, but perhaps wary.

Ward structured his set according to the Golden Rock Concert Ratio, playing three quarters of the album he was promoting, parsing in favorites from older albums at just the right moments, and combining invention with devotion in such a way that each familiar song was at once recognizable and intellectually engaging as a new work.

This last point was especially true on “Fuel for Fire,” from Ward’s last album, “Transistor Radio.” The song’s swelling lonesomeness was amplified by Ward’s plaintive harmonica playing; in devoting an entire verse to the instrument, he showed off a formidable instrumental talent that added a fresh layer to Ward’s antiqued radio-sentimentalism. “Helicopter,” from the quieter “Transfiguration of Vincent,” also benefited from some harp revisionism.

The changes wrought by Ward’s harmonica playing, as well as the presence of a full band (perhaps too full, with two drummers/percussionists) both live and on “Post-War,” didn’t unravel the intimacy of his words with overstuffed sound. While the solid backbeat dissolved the illusion that Ward’s songs were quiet confessions (except for the beautiful “I’ll Be Yr Bird,” which Ward performed in the encore before his band joined him), this did less to depersonalize the songs than it did to distance Ward from whisperer-confessors like Sam Beam of Iron & Wine.

Indeed, if Ward proved anything at the Somerville Theatre, it was his versatility. Like the vaudeville-era performers with whom he seems secretly fascinated, he wore many masks and played many roles, going from an impressive acoustic jam (both hands slapping and sliding the entire length of the fretboard), to the Sparklehorse-inspired trembling of “I’ll Be Yr Bird.” Across the entire spectrum, loud or quiet, there is a sense of familiarity with Ward, and it is a comfort that transcends the stories and sounds of his songs. It’s not so much the plaintive fragility of those with whom he is often compares (Beam of Iron & Wine, Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse), so much as a vulnerability we all share, channeled through stories with which we can all relate.

--Staff writer Henry M. Cowles can be reached at hmcowles@fas.harvard.edu