There are few artists who can create such a sense of detail and depth in the current canon as Saskatchewan’s Andy Shauf. He has a well-honed talent for weaving short conversations and scenes into compositions that take you on lengthy emotional journeys, like with 2020’s The Neon Skyline, where listeners could practically see a corner bar spring up from the void in their imagination, and gradually watch all the details get colored in, from the characters to the place itself to a fire truck whizzing by outside.
Shauf’s latest record, Norm, is no exception to this trend, though it is a different application of the skill set: a concept album, voyeuristic a character study of a voyeur, and briefly a conversation between this character and God. Its 36 minutes and pleasantly-tinted album cover belie an intricate narrative centered around the eponymous Norm who falls continually deeper into obsession with someone who doesn’t know he exists, unnamed and only referred to in the second person. Shauf successfully transforms the roomy Royale in Boston into a much more intimate show space simply by virtue of his performance, no barrier between the stage and the crowd. He presents the dozen tracks of Norm in full and in order, with a sort of intermission in the middle where he and his band deviate into work from some previous records, including The Neon Skyline.
The set begins on high, with God looking down and wondering whether his love is misplaced in the creatures below, such as Norm, all the while treating the events of the Bible with a distinct level of flippancy. Then ‘Catch Your Eye’ introduces us to the character’s internal monologue for the first time, opening the door on his desire to interact with the object of his affection, but things turn much darker with one deftly-written line in the following ‘Telephone’ where Norm reveals that he’s calling her from outside her window, and sees her confusion when he can’t bring himself to say anything on the line. The instruments, mic stands, and stage itself are all outlined in leaves, just as Norm is concealed (by God) in the story, and throughout the night Shauf’s face is perpetually cast with shadows from the foliage. His vocals are mellow, gentle, so one has to do something of an auditory double-take to ensure they caught the meaning of the line right the first time, to confirm things are going to a more unsettling place than initially forecasted. While the thrum of songs like ‘Catch Your Eye’ vibrate more substantially in person, things move patiently enough that the beat-per-minute count provides a deceptive sense of stability that is soon ripped from underfoot.
As the narrative of the album progresses, Norm’s divine observer becomes less lenient, and at the midpoint of the record appeals to him to change his “wicked ways” at the halfway point. For the setlist, this signals a step back in time to The Neon Skyline and The Party. While changing gears, Shauf asks the quiet of the room, “Any questions?” Somehow he ends up divulging a recent interest in savory oatmeal. While still absolutely deserving of being experienced as a whole, The Neon Skyline lends itself well to being seen through selected songs, as things like ‘Thirteen Hours’ are flashbacks inside what is otherwise a bottle of an album. That song begins in media res and little details crop up around it to form a complete picture of a conflict; nothing is delivered with intensity here, but it has the ring of a little foundational crack opening a little wider underneath the pair. The loudness of the song’s ending is the only thing hinting at the true sting of Judy’s final statement.
The narrator here is stuck too, but in a different way than Norm, instead living in the long shadow of a sputtered-out relationship that he’s forced to reckon with on the night in question. The power of the past looms large, and as much as the sense memory of something like a ‘Clove Cigarette’ can draw one back into happy reminiscences with such specificity, the detritus of a shattered romance hides tripwires that can snare one into less pleasant pieces of history with equal ease. The narrator muses on his current state: “Oh it’s not a problem, I just had other plans.” There’s no catastrophe, but he still was thinking things would be different. It’s a sentiment that’s such a downer partially because there’s no Big Thing for the sadness to coalesce around – it’s just unremarkable.
Returning to Norm, the crowd cheers for ‘Halloween Store’, easily the most uptempo moment from the record, when things seem to be briefly falling into place for Norm himself. The bass is bouncy as would be his heartbeat, the keys bright, percussion jingling, woodwinds painting the scene in a vibrance that seems to match the glow that adorns the album’s cover. But that sunset is abruptly revealed to be perhaps the last thing Norm’s victim sees. Only absence is felt from then on, including a bit of explanation provided astride the deliberate piano of ‘Daylight Dreaming’, a call that never comes in ‘Long Throw’, and God telling someone, “Don’t let it get to you.” Perhaps the sentiment is directed at himself, to assuage guilt from his participation in, and allowance of, the events that unfolded.
Cymbals crash – but true to the song’s name, a calm returns, the whole thing just a blip in omniscient eyes. It’s not a flattering picture, and overall it casts the album as a rumination on the longstanding “problem of evil”, experienced through a parable with just a handful of characters. Norm asks, in a beautiful level of detail that only becomes more textured when heard live: “What can happen when something else entirely masquerades as love?” Every point of view the listener gets is a facet of this problem, and ultimately we don’t hear from the person it affects the most – all wrapped in a disquieting cloak of calm that, while it leaves listeners on unsteady ground, is also one of Andy Shauf’s most affecting works to date.
Review and Photos by Collin Heroux
