Matt Hammer (back), Graham Low, Quin Galavis
Galavis and Shelley Mckann
Quin Galavis’ songs are of the experience that is both devastating and brightly glowing. Somehow, they make me happy. He played his record release show last night to a packed house at the newly named 29th Street Ballroom at Spider House in Austin. One young, drunk fan so taken with Galavis shouted his name over and over during an opening band’s set. In fact, there were many adoring fans, singing along even, and I’m not surprised.
His decidedly poignant songs are mingling with the likes of Leonard Cohen and Bill Callahan. Galavis’ rather high singing style, to Callahan’s and Cohen's low, is perhaps a dominant difference. But there is also a true kinship between the three of them in ways of experimentation, repetition, interiority, and emotional honesty.
I’ve seen Galavis perform several times, both alone on acoustic guitar, and with his cellist, drummer and keyboardist. But something was different last night. Last night the sounds of each member of the band were melting into each other, forming a cradle to hold the open lyrics and reaching vocals of Galavis. In past performances I have heard the cello singing in a way that almost felt as if I were eavesdropping on a conversation. But, last night the entire band wrapped itself around his stories for the enchantment of the crowd.
They closed with Holly, My Only Love, a song that has been showing up in my dreams for months. And, now I’m thrilled to have it on vinyl. The new album entitled, Should Have Known You, will break your heart.
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