The Tallest Man on Earth

One of the most precious experiences in life is the feeling of being in the perfect spot on earth at just the right time. Sometimes it is a deeply personal triumph - that first kiss with the girl you've been secretly in love with since 3^rd grade - or maybe it is the first-hand witnessing of something that is so special you feel blessed just to be there in the first-person. These glory days snapshots are rare, but they are what keep us going. After all, there could be another on coming, right around the next corner.

After years of thinking I had seen the last of my own personal wow moments, I am here to report that one of them hit me squarely in the face on Saturday night in, of all places, a cool little night club tucked in the middle of the normally white bread and gentrified town of Saratoga Springs, NY.

A bit dramatic, you reply. Yeah, but that's what I'm paid to do-be dramatic. Paid poorly, I might add, but none of that mattered when I had the privilege of seeing (ahem; witnessing) a performance by a gentleman that goes by the name the Tallest Man On Earth in a cozy venue called The Parting Glass.

For the past few months, there has been a growing buzz within the indie-snob universe about this mysterious Swede (real name=Kristian Matsson), who fingerpicks a guitar like a man possessed and sings though his nose about life, death, nature and other topics that can be interpreted many ways by many people.

With his full length Shallow Grave gaining a new convert with every new blogger and paid critic that puts an ear to it, Matsson added to the simmer with a confounding public face-or should one say lack of a face. The initial rounds of publicity that slowly emerged from Scandinavia played up the 'tallest man' moniker, with photos unable to contain the full image this supposed giant. Thus rose the semi-legend of a freak troubadour who only wandered out of his native forest for rare bonfire performances in front of startled camp-goers. An on-the-cheap video clip that plays up on this theme has been a viral hit.

It caught me in its trap; I've long been tapping into the Tallest Man's website on a regular basis, waiting for information on a rumored US tour. Hence my surprise when it was posted that a small run of just seven shows was scheduled for early June; yet two of the seven would be right here in the Capital Region! I've since learned that the reason for this is that there is some sort of management connection to a local yokel. Small favors, take note.

A ten spot got me in the door of the P-Glass, as my fellow table sitters call this room A crowd of about one-hundred settled into their Guinness and burgers, all seemingly biding their time through an opening set by a folk-rock combo named Knotworking. This was my first time in the building, and I can report that it is an underutilized gem of a spot for the region's live music scene, with a wide stage, great sight lines and excellent acoustics.

Finally, a skinny little guy (yes, I said little) dressed in standard Eurotrash leather regalia entered the scene and hit the elevated stage. Within two minutes of tuning and tweaking, he was ready to go. The magical ride was about to start.

From the first notes of Pistol Dreams (also the opener of his new CD), the crowd was frozen, transfixed on Mattson's every word, sound and movement. His clever guitar work immediately took up enough sonic space that you would think he was backed by a chamber quartet, thus providing ample foundation for his surprisingly strong vocals to soar about the room.

Wandering troubadours sing of real life experiences; of what happed to them at the town they just passed through. Poets make you work a bit, clouding the landscape with lyrical metaphors that force you to quickly decipher the meaning of. Matsson tosses both varieties at you, breaking your heart with a song of a man entering what he thinks will be his final night on earth and then spinning riddles of nature and man at you to ponder and reflect on.

But all of it worked, hitting you squarely in the heart while at the same time affording you the luxury of treating each lyric as either a profound gift or as a beautiful musical note. Adding to the intrigue was Matsson stage demeanor; he wandered like a caged cat, at times snarling a the edge of the stage then freezing for a brief second as if recharging via an invisible gamma ray. You couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable, pissed off or having the time of his life.

Forty minutes later, it was over - no encore, stunned faces and a bunch of those 'wows.' Included within was my own 'perfect spot at the right time' realization. As many of The Tallest Man On Earth's early adapters and fans allude to, these first shows could someday be "I was there" types of moments. In two years, this crowd count may grow to be a thousand people.

But for me, it's more personal. Music has always been my passion, my individual salvation, ever since a borrowed six-string rescued me from a life of desperation and anger. But that flame has been slowly fading, with the glut of commercial garbage being forced on the masses effectively suffocating the creative winds from the musical landscape. I'd become convinced that the Grand Movement - the greatest expression of creativity in the history of mankind -- was dead, incapable of ever again generating the kind of passion and energy it delivered over its first fifty years. Rock is dead, they say.

The Tallest Man On Earth - just a strange little guy with a simple little guitar -- gives me hope that it ain't over yet. Rock, folk, blues, whatever - it's all worth saving, and knowing there are people like Mattson out there keeping that flame alive makes everything suddenly feel OK again. Long live rock and all the other genres..

After paying my beer tab, I headed toward the side door, walking right past the Swede, who was starting his Meet & Greet routine. At that stage of the night, a handshake and an autograph didn't seem right; wooded legends shouldn't be doing merch-tables. It kind of destroys the moment.

So, outside I ventured. Two college kids, on their way in, asked "how was the show?" Not quite ready to form fully comprehensive sentences yet, all I could do was shake my head as I kept moving past them.

"Gee, I guess it must have really sucked," the one kid said.

If he only knew.