A Friend, Indeed Matt Nathanson 10. 12. 2004 @ Irving Plaza by Rachel Waxman Photos by Max S. Gerber Back in the old days, when we’d chill at those cafes and small city venues, Matt Nathanson carved a lonely figure out on stage- just him, his trusty 12-string guitar and sometimes a cellist. He drew us into his cozy shows, showing off his sharp humor, caustic yet tender lyrics and a fetish for raunchy humor that made us laugh until we snorted.

It had been a while since I’d seen the guy when I caught his October 12th show at Irving Plaza. And while in many ways he seemed to be the same old Matt I had always known, he had also showed some pleasantly surprising signs of evolution. Now backed by a full band, he deftly balanced his intimate, coffeehouse artist roots with the arena rock superstar ambitions we always knew he wanted to fulfill. Kind of like your best friend’s older brother who was endearing but a bit dorky during high school and college- but he’s been away for a while and now that he is back, he’s the coolest thing since camera phones and you brag that you used to make fun of his mullet.

True, this time it wasn’t just “us;” tonight, he brought some of his new friends along for the ride but it was all right. At first, I resented them in the way only a selfish girl jealous of her friend’s newfound popularity could. But as we partied on through the night, I realized, “Hey. Matt’s a cool dude. And if he likes these guys and they’re cool with him, then they’re definitely cool with me.” (Okay. So the only relationship Matt and I will ever have is Rock Star and Smitten Audience Member, but I’d definitely Friendster Matt if Friendster was still cool -and I’d totally squeal when he accepted me.)
Matt walked out in front of the rambunctious crowd like we were a summer camp bunkhouse and he was our counselor. Grabbing his guitar, he launched into his first tune, “Pretty the World,” drawing us into his large yet intimate sing-along. The rock n’ roll party continued the whole night as, in between his incredibly catchy pop-rock tunes, Matt embraced us, cursed like a sailor, told jokes dirty enough to make you blush, gave relationship advice like it was his job, and bantered wittily in his trademark fragile/bitter heartbrakee manner (“This is a song about sharing. Actually, it’s a song about dating someone who fucks other people: sharing”).

Despite Matt’s newfound popularity and nearly a gazillion new friends and admirers, he still stayed true to his humble singer-songwriter roots. For a moment, squooshed between his raucous cover of James’ “Laid” and a rousing rendition of the crowd favorite “Lucky Boy,” we caught a glimpse of Twentieth Century Matt as he shed his band and strode alone into the spotlight, heart proudly on sleeve. His first solo number, the old and familiar “Church Clothes” was beautiful in its acoustic sincerity; I think. It was difficult to hear above the crowd’s incessant chattering and shout-outs. Then after breezing through the rest of the lengthy set, Matt deemed it time to introduce his friends, the excellent backup band. True to form, he turned the introduction into a miniature rock show of its own, complete with his screeching vocals and short solos by each band member.

Closing the set with the interactive sing-along song, “Answering Machine,” Matt bade his fond farewell: “Thanks a lot for hanging out with us this evening. I had a great time! Like angels, New York City. See you again, soon!” As we took our turn singing the chorus, the fraternal feel that had colored the whole evening was more apparent than ever, and we probably all agreed that the next time we would see our friend couldn’t come soon enough.