I really love Kate Tucker's new album, White Horses. Typical of Tucker, it's gorgeous--but it's got enough of an edge to where it doesn't land in archetypal Grey's Anatomy-soundtrack territory. Last night, at the Crocodile, Tucker played a CD release party in the album's honor. Everything sounded fine, but her set was an hour-long (if that) exercise in narcissism, as Tucker seized the opportunity to eye-fuck the three (or was it four?) cameras shuttering like crazy at the base of the Croc's stage. The audience's experience was like inadvertently walking in on a closed-set fashion shoot, and the show had all the soul of a major-label showcase at the Whisky, where the only men in attendance have Bluetooths in their ears and call I-5 "the five."
Brad Trent "Was it good for you, camera?"
Tucker, who's outrageously good-looking, has a pouty, Jewel-like inflection to her voice, which has the metaphorical effect of the microphone becoming an erect penis, and her voice a playful tongue that fails to take in the microphone's/penis' full girth. She has lips that most Hollywood actresses would pay good money to obtain artificially, and should get on with it already and move to Los Angeles, where she's sure to go far. Seattle might be her hometown, but it sure ain't the town for Tucker--the crowd responded to her set as though it was chilling its collective boner in a whirlpool of ice.
Gabriel Mintz, who opened for Tucker, is a different story altogether. He's the guy who gave the crowd that boner in the first place.Have you ever wondered what would happen if Paul Pfeiffer from the Wonder Years was crossed with Kenny G's DNA in a petri dish? Wonder no more--just catch Mintz in action. Ultra-lanky with long, curly hair, Mintz dresses as though he was let loose on a one-man shopping bonanza at Nordstrom Rack with a blindfold on. He had ultra-light chinos on, white socks, and dress shoes, to go with a subtly plaid rayon shirt (sorry to get all Patrick Bateman on you, kids). He so doesn't give a fuck about his look that you wonder whether he's one of those guys who really gives a fuck about not looking like he gives a fuck. It's a mind puzzle for the ages, and stands in stark, stark contrast to Kiss Me Kate.
Our Erin Thompson thinks Mintz is reminiscent of Jeff Buckley. That shoe sort of fits, but he kicks it off a lot more often than he keeps it laced. Frankly, the guy can play and sing just about any style of music; he's like Robert Plant, without the harem of groupies waiting backstage. Rush fans ought to love him--he's the real deal.