It's late for a Kitchen Sessions, folks are circling, uneasy, not sure if the band's going to be a no-show, if it's too late, even for a Friday, and maybe the cool, new, downstairs neighbors aren't so cool, and this show'll get broken up before it get going, if it ever does get going. And then, Adam shows up, with the rest of the Lupine Chorale Society, fresh from their concert downtown, and I can see they're tired, that he's already put on quite a performance, but the band lugs their equipment up the stairs and sets up, and then the real show begins.
You'd think this was easy:
There's something about Adam Arcuragi, about the way he closes his eyes and lets this unbelievable force of nature loose from his chest, but in a knowing, controlled, swaying-viper-to-a-recorder type way that simply takes my breath away. He throws his head back and lets out melodic streaks and notes that seem in no way possible (his voice'll crack, he'll run out of breath), but he hits each one, every time, growing stronger, as though he's drumming up something ancient (good or evil, as yet to be determined) from the earth, and his peals break my heart but hypnotize it simultaneously. His voice and guitar riffs have a roots rock/troubadour feel, a la Grant Lee Buffalo (early years), which is emphasized and deepened by the rest of the Lupine Chorale Society, in a breathtaking, awe-inspiring, church kind of way; each keyboard chord struck by Brienne Rose, each bass riff strummed by Andrew Gerhan, and every roll drummed by Juston Stens, made only all the holier by their tuned, thrumming voices.