Advertisement
In a dimly lit ballroom nestled in New York's Lower East Side, a lone stool stands centerstage amid a smattering of candles. The room is filled with a low hum from the voices of industry-types, all of whom have descended upon the Bowery Ballroom for its virgin night of music. But when the lanky Brit with the curtain of brown hair lopes on-stage with guitar in hand, the room bursts into applause. When he begins to strum and raises his alto just above the sound of strings, the room falls silent. The audience is entranced.
"It is idealistic, but I think it works," Bernard Butler says the next day, about his decision to perform the only U.S. show to promote his solo debut, People Move On, entirely acoustically and with none of the trappings allowed a musician of his caliber. "I think that people deserve the intelligence."
It's surprising that someone with his history would have so much faith in the "industry." These are, after all, the same people who deemed Butler a dissident, tagged him "difficult to work with," and treated him as a musical pariah when he departed the London Suede at the height of their success in 1994. When he resurfaced with a duo, McAlmont and Butler, the next year, no one in the States bothered to notice. His week-long stint with the Verve in 1996 didn't do much to boost his reputation in these parts, either, and the British press wouldn't give the poor guy a break.
"Who said you have to be a nice guy to make records?" asks Butler. "And there's no way I could answer to it. No one ever says it to your face. There's one person who's gone out and planted [this reputation] and it becomes the bane of your life." But despite the reputation that precedes his singular American appearance, all evidence points toward the contrary. People Move On epitomizes the sentiments of a sensitive Nineties guy, with lyrics touching on relationships, insecurities, movement and growth. The songs are well-crafted, boosted by his wide-ranging musical abilities (he plays everything but the drums and strings on the album, and even tries his hand at production), and tied together with his surprisingly deft voice (until recently, no one even knew he could sing, Butler himself included).
Nonetheless, there are those who presume all things Butler are a direct jab at Suede. "I knew whatever I wrote about ... if I wrote about the weather, it would be related back to [Suede]," Butler submits. "But it's all much more interesting than that, much more personal than that."
Songs like "Stay," "Autograph," and "Not Alone" attest to his assertions, as did his stripped-down, solo show in New York. Butler is unafraid to expose his vulnerability, whether in the studio, on stage or in print, and people are starting to pay him notice. The album debuted at No. 11 in the U.K., and the capricious British press has even lumped Butler with the likes of Radiohead and the Verve. But that doesn't affect the infamous guitarist, whose off-stage antics have often received more press than his talents. "In England, I don't trust it. I've been on both sides, so I know how fickle [the press] can be."
In America, however, he's surprised that he can captivate an audience with only his acoustic guitar and a handful of candles. "I'm really delighted that people are getting into it. I'm blown away by it," Butler confides. So much so, in fact, that he's planning an acoustic tour to precede the full-fledged, electric tour he's got lined up for September. Idealistic? Sure, but if his spartan show at the Bowery Ballroom could capture and retain the attention of a roomful of critics with poison pens, imagine what Butler's intricate and sophisticated melodies can do to those who stand to gain nothing from dragging him down.
HEIDI SHERMAN