Almost every record Mark Kozelek has ever released, with his bands Red House Painters and Sun Kil Moon and under his own name, has a monochromatic album cover. Black & white, sepia, a hint of red or blue-- the visual aesthetic of his records has been remarkably consistent. The easy joke here is that it's only been as consistent as the tone of his music-- slow and melancholy, with almost no exceptions-- but for a guy who really only has one speed, Kozelek has a very rewarding (and very deep) discography. Lost Verses Live is a long album gathering recordings from shows played in Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and San Francisco, alone with his guitar, and sometimes joined by second acoustic guitarist (and former Red House Painter) Phil Carney.
It's very similar in feel to last year's comparably sparse live mini-album 7 Songs Belfast, and its basic sonic uniformity and beauty means it plays almost like an ambient recording. You can put it on in the background as well as any Eno meditation, but as with any great ambient music it also holds up to closer listening. Dictionary.com could save some time by simply uploading a sample of Kozelek singing to serve as its definition for melancholy, and his milky baritone rings out with intense clarity on these recordings, which were made in resonant rooms, from churches to theaters. Devoted fans will be richly rewarded for picking this up, though some newcomers might find their ears wandering as it stretches past the hour mark.
I was split on whether I wanted the "Lucky Man" in the tracklisting to be a version of his own song by that name or an Emerson, Lake & Palmer cover, but having heard the crystalline reading of his own song, I'm glad it wasn't yet another novel cover from a guy who loves to give the solo acoustic treatment to KISS, AC/DC, and Modest Mouse. Modest Mouse's "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" does get the plaintive, quiet treatment here, one of two covers along with Sondheim's "Send in the Clowns", which Kozelek makes about as heartbreaking as possible. He turns in a haunting, spare version of Sun Kil Moon's "Salvador Sanchez", a song about a now-deceased featherweight boxing champion, and in general, haunting is the best descriptor for many of these songs. "Tonight in Bilbao" is simply about traveling Europe alone, but man is Kozelek ever alone as he sings about distant lights and train stations.
There are a few bits of stage banter included to break up the pristine sadness, and they're all welcome. He makes the audience laugh in most of them, joking about being hot on stage but refusing to take his shirt off at 41 years old. When the lilting lullaby of "Katy Song" comes to a sudden stop at the end of the disc, one can't help but be a little surprised-- a record with such a timeless feel hardly seems like it even can end, but like all good things, it does. Kozelek is a powerful performer, and every fan should have at least one of his live recordings. If you haven't heard one yet, this should be the one.
