At the end of his set Friday night at Cafe Nine, New York-based singer-songwriter Don DiLego talked about how going out to hear live music was a dying thing. How club promoters who really supported the people they booked were getting harder and harder to find.
And then, how Cafe Nine owner Paul Mayer was an exception to that. “The guy who owns this place is a rare breed,” he said.
Then the band bought everyone in the audience a drink. And that was after he played on the bar.
So ended a night of music and mutual love from bands and audience that began with a strong set from New Haven’s own Backyard Committee, there to open for DiLego and his band, the Touristas. The Backyard Committee’s recorded work is warm, inviting, and groovy, a brand of rock ‘n’ roll straight out of 1972 with one important goal in mind: to make everyone feel good.
The Backyard Committee’s live set showed that they meant it, and that the musicality on their records was no studio trick. In a set that moved from song to song stopping only once for applause, they played together with attentiveness and camaraderie, creating a rich and friendly sound in which no one just went through the motions. Mike Sembos anchored the vibe of every song with his earnest, direct vocals and a subtle varied touch on rhythm guitar. In a style that would have made Levon Helm proud, Nick D’Errico’s drums were relaxed and urgent at the same time, creating plenty of space for the music which showing it where to go. Tim Walsh on bass and Eric Donnelly on lead guitar proved endless inventive, finding new phrases at the end of every bar, a way to tug at the emotions without breaking the spell.
The Backyard Committee’s easygoing demeanor might at first have seemed a little out of place with Don DiLego, whose energy was more angular and insistent. But as he and the Touristas — Blaine O’Brien on pedal steel, Erik Olsen on bass, and Scott Campbell on drums — settled into their set, much of it pulled from DiLego’s latest album, Magnificent Ram A, the mood deepened. The audience’s attention grew more and more rapt. And the band, which had started off strong to begin with, played better and better.
Between songs, DiLego crafted a set-long, entirely fictional story about Dan, the man working behind the bar at Cafe Nine, and the various famous bands he’d played with and refused to play with, from Nirvana and Radiohead to Mariah Carey. Then, midway through his set, DiLego leapt from the stage and onto the bar to belt out a rousing version of “Midnight Special” that had everyone in the crowd singing along, often in harmony.
With that, DiLego and his band got ever friendlier. “I can’t believe the attention I’m getting in the room,” he said toward the end of his set, when a song ended, there was applause, and then — unusual for Cafe Nine — no one talking. Just people waiting to see what DiLego would do next. So DiLego talked about the difficulties of life on tour (this week sees he and his band heading out to the West Coast), the painstaking way bands build fan bases literally one person at a time, and the nights that make it all worthwhile.
Then he bought everyone in the audience a drink. Shots of whiskey were poured all around and glasses raised for what DiLego said would be his last song, a full-band rocker. Except, unable to contain himself, he sprang up onto the bar again to lead the audience through a singalong of the Rolling Stones’ “Dead Flowers.” As everyone’s voices rose together, it was more than just a novel way to end a set. It felt like an act of kindness.