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On an October evening in 2002, I found myself driving down picturesque Route 29 with two good friends. Mirah was on tour, but not stopping anywhere closer to D.C. than Charlottesville. And we simply had to see her. Five years later, the singular singer-songwriter with the beautifully delicate voice is on the road again, and while she's stopping in D.C. this time, I can't go, so I had to make a side trip to Philadelphia two weeks ago to see her play. I've never been one to go out of my way to see shows; I've never followed a band around on tour, and truth be told, I tend to balk at spending more than $20 to see a show. Which may be a D.C.-centric aesthetic at work, or it may just make me cheap, lazy, or both, but the point is that Mirah is an artist worth trekking two-plus hours to see for an hour in a tiny little college-town club or the sweltering, suffocating basement of an Philly church with no air conditioning.
I first fell under Mirah's spell after her acclaimed 2002 sophomore effort, Advisory Committee. The record is an amazing marriage of songwriting and production, Mirah's deeply personal (though never precious or maudlin) songs meshed perfectly with the sound of Phil Elvrum, the reclusive sonic wunderkind of The Microphones. Elvrum expanded Mirah's devastatingly pretty compositions from simple and intimate pieces into dynamic and rich landscapes that bore many of his production hallmarks, with booming overdriven drums and imaginative interplay of the left and right stereo channels.
While Mirah has only released one other solo record since Advisory Committee, 2004's also excellent C'mon Miracle, she's hardly been inactive. Just as her songs are structured without much regard for traditional form, so is her career typified by a willingness to engage in whatever project or collaboration that speaks to her at any given moment. In 2003 that manifested itself in Songs from the Black Mountain Music Project, as Mirah, Ginger Brooks Takahashi and some friends holed up in a house in North Carolina for a month recording anything that struck their fancy. From chirping crickets to lonesome trains to loose and fun folky songs. In 2004 she collaborated with The Black Cat Orchestra on a series of mostly covers of rebel songs from the likes of Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen and Kurt Weill.
Photo by Flickr user jamieumd8, used under a Creative Commons license.
Mirah's latest is also not a solo album proper, but another collaboration with members of The Black Cat Orchestra and others, calling themselves Spectratone International. As K Records describes it, the songs "humanize[s] the trials and pleasures of the insect world" with inspiration from French scientist/poet J. Henri Fabré, and serves as a score to a series of short films by Britta Johnson. Audiences can expect just a taste of the new material at tomorrow's show at the Black Cat. In Philadelphia, Mirah seemed to consider playing some of the new songs fully, but, perhaps owing to the punishing heat, opted for a more interactive game: she would sing a few lines, and the audience would have to guess what kind of insect the song was about. Philly's etymology community didn't disappoint, as she was unable to stump the crowd. We'll see if D.C. fares as well.
Mirah's other most recent project is Joyride, a career-spanning set of remixes of her own songs by a diverse array of producers. Live, and with just a drummer and keyboardist in tow, it would seem her options are limited in introducing the new arrangements of familiar songs. But her drummer also happens to be a pretty gifted beat-boxer, and so audiences are treated to snippets of the songs, sung accompanied only by his vocalized beats.
The inclusion of the small backing band also adds a new dimension to her live show, which in the past has often been simply been her and a guitar. The show loses none of the lovely intimacy or playful relaxation that typify her shows. In fact, the addition of reinforcements, if only to take a little of the attention off of herself, seems to make her more at ease. For all the depth and complexity of her recordings, the songs themselves are simple things (if deceptively so). They feel less at home on a stage than they would sitting around the house or around a campfire, and with other musicians onstage, they take on a communal air that suits them well.
And that feeling of community is really the best thing about a Mirah show. For all their emotional introspection, frankly personal sexuality, and intimacy, her songs resonate across an audience. At times, it seems less like a concert and more like hanging out at a friend's house. It's just that your friend happens to have a lovely singing voice.
Mirah plays at the Black Cat tomorrow night with Laura Veirs, doors at 9 p.m., $12.
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Mirah was great, but much of the audience was rude and obnoxious. They spoke over Mirah for the majority of her set, only letting up during the encore, which was excellent.