You probably don’t know who Emperor X is, and, while I’m passionate about passing brilliant but obscure music onto worthy new listeners, this is different. For whatever reason, when I mentioned in public that I was completely absorbed by this record (Western Teleport (Bar/None Records), people whose opinions I respect and admire piped up that they, too, were addicted to it, and had been for months. Yet they weren’t compelled to share. Curious. I listened to the record with new ears, trying to find what it is I should be ashamed of, why wouldn’t I want everyone to buy this album? Maybe I’m too close to the music for objectivity, but there’s nothing in it that makes me feel protective, afraid someone would criticize it for anything. It’s lovely and sincere, but it’s also technically adept and really ambitious for a lo-fi record. It’s smartly written with pleasant and clever rhymes and it’s challenging in all the right places.

And so my obsession with Western Teleport escalated, with alarming speed. I even creeped on Chad Matheny’s Facebook to see if we had any friends in common. We did, and I texted our mutual friend, “Are you friends with Chad Matheny, or are you ‘Facebook Friends’ with Chad Matheny?” She assured me not only was she actually his friend, but she also confirmed my suspicions that he was/is kind, smart *and* earnest. The Real Deal. A rare bird, indeed.

Far be it from me to make sweeping generalizations with no hard evidence to back it up. Behold! Beneath the tour dates listed on Emperor X’s Tumblr:

IMPORTANT!
If any event listed above is not all ages and that lame fact makes you unable to attend, please send an e-mail and I’ll play any three songs you’d like outside the venue for you and anyone else you bring along. Then we can all go ride local public transport or get fish tacos or something. 

Who does that? Chad Matheny does that. So when I saw Emperor X appear on The Firebird’s concert calendar less than two weeks before the show, I kinda lost my shit.

I’ve promoted other shows for obscure acts I feared wouldn’t draw a healthy crowd, but this was so much different. I knew that no matter how many people showed up, we’d all be a family by the time it was over. My glad begging never faltered, and I didn’t really care how unsuccessful I was. I spread the good word, the rest was up to fate.

The boy with the sweater, sneakers, and messy hair (that I totally watched him blow dry with a bus station hand dryer that morning, CREEPER)  pulled his microphone onto the floor instead of leaving it on stage. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he requested the wide arc of listeners to close in on him until he had to tell them to back up again. He stayed about a foot from his microphone most of the time, so we heard his voice naturally, and also with an echoey, layered effect through the amps behind him. With minimal adjustment, he recreated the album’s sound, but in an intimate, entirely present manner. There was no fussy hitch between the music and its creator, and no glitchy filter between the sound and its recipients. He barrelled through his material with gusto, and he gave no indication that he was in any way tired of touring the country by bus to get to us.

Did we smile until our faces ached? Oh yes. Did we sing “Allahu ackbar” with joyful abandon, even though most of us didn’t really mean it? We certainly did. Did I awkwardly hug everyone in the room when it was over? Guilty. Did we just become best friends? I really hope so.

 

And so I’m breaking this silly silence. I want everyone to listen to Western Teleport, but I also want everyone to listen to Chad Matheny. Watch his little videos, preorder the new record he’s working on, pay attention to everything he does, for the rest of his life. Listen to him, and learn about being human, about being vulnerable, about trying and failing, about trying and succeeding, and about always wearing your own skin because it’s always the only one that isn’t already taken.

—–

When St. Louis’ quirky art rock outfit Britches confirmed as opener, I admit, I did a little dance. I realize it isn’t immediately obvious that these two acts would go together in any way. Emperor X is a one-man lo-fi folk pop dynamo. Britches performs while wearing the severed heads of giant stuffed animals and they replace the batteries in their Speak ‘n Spell before they go on. [tomato/tomato]. But when I saw Britches open for Marnie Stern, I was impressed by their professionalism, their intensity, and their sincerity. There is no artifice to Britches. They are extremely serious about what they do, and they do it with precision and sharpness that, by way of comparison, made Marnie Stern’s backing band’s sloppiness annoying enough for me to leave after three songs. It is a huge brag on St. Louis that about half of the audience Sunday night showed up just to see Britches, but I was sad to see a big chunk of them left after their set, before they could see that both bands had the same foundation of pride and dignity, the same high standards, the same confidence in their ability to to be the undisputed best at being themselves, and the same steady fierceness about the art of live music. Next time Emperor X comes to town, stick around for the whole show, kids.