“Not Now, Nor Ever”The TouristGENRE: IndieLABEL: Firefly Music*****
As back-alley venues go, the Nightlight is one of a kind.
After sidling down a narrow alley off of West Rosemary Street in Chapel Hill, first walking into the venue feels a bit like walking into a library. The walls are lined with bookshelves jam packed full of dusty, weathered books, ranging in topic from Greek plays to philosophy to religion to Winnie the Pooh. A hodgepodge of booths, benches and chairs clutter the floor, accompanied by tables full of records and CDs.
In the back of the room is a small platform, nestled among amps and stools and mic stands and sound equipment. The stage is about a foot high, covered by a dirty, faded oriental rug that looks like it may have been blue at one time.
Two 12-inch Peaveys hang haphazardly from the warped ceiling tiles, and a few dim yellow lights shine down upon Thomas Baucom on keyboard, Josh Phillips on drums, and in the front, just off-stage, Hunter MacDermut with his acoustic guitar and harmonica. After some fiddling and a few muted mic checks, The Tourist, a three-piece band from the Triangle, is ready to play.
Just because the band members start at their particular instruments, that doesn’t, by any means, mean they stay in that place.
The three members are ridiculously versatile, switching things up after every song — literally.
Starting off strong with the song “A Month of Sundays” from his debut album, “Not Now, Nor Ever,” MacDermut sings about a love he just can’t get out of and maybe doesn’t want to. “I just don’t think that I love you like I used to — but I think that I’d like to.”
By the end of the song, toes are tapping across the concrete floor, and heads bob appreciatively. With a soothing, almost lullaby-ish voice, MacDermut’s vocals are just as impressive and unassuming as his stage presence. It doesn’t feel as much like watching a musician perform as it feels like watching a friend.
By incorporating banjo, harmonica and tambourine throughout the set, The Tourist instills a twangy, folk indie feel to its music, and its consistently short songs make for easy listening.
And these guys don’t just play instruments — they all sing too. With back-up vocal by Phillips on a few songs and a particularly pleasant a cappella harmony by all three at the beginning of “If Anyone Asks I’m Dead,” these musicians complement one another well.
And with all the switching up, you think you’d get bored of waiting for the next song to begin. But the change-ups go smoothly, with the exception of a few hang ups on those pesky hanging Peaveys.
However, after a few nervous giggles from MacDermut, and one of his shy, heartwarming smiles, the guys are ready to go again.
Besides, MacDermut’s lyrics are well worth the wait. They are hard-hitting, and while smoothly executed, they’re brutally honest for the most part. Toward the middle of the set, in a particularly jazzy song, he croons “Don’t you ever wish that love was slightly less intense? I mean I love you, but sometimes it’s only out of self-defense.”
However, one of the last songs, “You’re,” brings out the romantic in MacDermut, as he sings “my heart, scattered bits across the parking lot; oh the way you’re here and then you’re not.”
And as a special treat, for their last song the group played a piece written by Phillips for his solo project, a much more up-tempo song titled “Currituck.”
So if you’re looking for a night of easy listening, challenging lyrics and comfortable tunes, these guys are definitely the way to go. Just be sure to bring $10 to score the CD while you’re there — you’ll want to listen to these songs again and again.
