TV Smith
The Black Cat, Washington DC
By Jillian Abbene
(SugarBuzz Balt/Wash DC/Richmond)
SugarBuzz Magazine
There is a certain sense of vulnerability to performing solo with only a guitar. TV Smith's (Tim Smith) fuel-inspired lyrics are penned directly from his personal experience with the delivery and tactful diplomacy that produces a distinctive nuance of emotional intelligence. I don't think this style is 'folk' punk by any stretch. Further, unlike most bands with obvious screaming angst, Tim's approach is reflected more in a civil anger, with a definitive grit you standardly get from folk qualities. Effectively translating from chorus to verse, he projects a quiet strength. His lyrics articulate the human condition; transcending melancholy to a more universal level as he dispenses an uncomforting delivery of songs.
Giving a personal voice to the disenchanted, Tim's wordsmithing exercises a vocal angst that connects and captivates the audience synonymously. To me, it's personal. Somewhat disenchanted by the economy myself, it's no secret I am among them. Tim's selection of verse, subject matter maligned with genuine passion, is quality--and 
exclusively his own.
In the formative years with the Adverts and with The Explorers, Tim has always maintained this exuding natural state of resilience. Gaining popularity by the unpopular, he touches on topics such as exposed government hypocrisies, wealth mismanagement, and life's struggles with poetic verbal protests.
Fast forward to The Black Cat in Washington DC. I have made my way to one of the 'back' rooms where TV Smith is to perform. Just in time, as the lights dim and Tim appears. His slim physique stands solitary in bleached jeans and T-shirt with the words stamped in front, "Unknown Destiny." With only one beam of light, all eyes are on him.
Jumping in on the second song, "Not In My Name," Tim projects a raspy defiance that rolls in waves of proclamation. As the solemn tune makes its way to the chorus, it is the source of anthemic disgust. Transcending into a 'Joe Strummer' plodding back-beat, Tim's steady guitar-strums are hard; crooning about big brother encroaching on an individual's privacy. Poignantly, he ends the song accapella, "Why do I have to show my I.D.?" with the last verse trailing off with, "...You can't resist what you can agree... ."
With only a slight pause for applause, he pushes into the beginning of, "Bring The Bull Down." A chunkier tune, he articulates each verse with each guitar strum-beat. The verse rolls into a heavy wave of 
guitar crescendo. Tim's stomp in defiance on the beat just before the chorus is right on queue. The almost shouting melodic chorus in, "Bring The Bull Down," with suddenly a change with overlapping consistent strHe manages to keep the intensity in tact as the bridge is fiercely delivered. Words are strung to the second bridge--which consists of four bars of guitar strums that build on sound to the third verse. The memorable chorus resonates throughout the room as the song ends right there. [Note: However, I was a bit disappointed that the Triangle instrument was eliminated for this live version as it gave a sense of finality.]
There's a strange silence as the soft-swept guitar strums are under Tim's clean diction in, "The Lion And The Lamb." Each verse ends in short, slicing-cuts through the melody. You can hear a pin drop. The swelling chorus ascends into somber guitar-strums insulating the steady cadence. Reflecting a sense of singularity in, "Now you sparkle in the mud/Like a diamond in the rough/Ready for the cut, Ready for the cut/Some stay dull, Some stay blunt/But you will shine," the steady cadence is almost hypnotic. Additional strums are added to the crescendo--striking down on chords. As a highlighted guitar melody emerges, Tim's eyes are closed. Acting as the absent drum-beat, he stomps his foot in time resounding with a hollow thump. Unifying the chorus, there's a lingering pang in the ending fade.
Tim gives a verbal intro, "This next song makes us forget who we are... but what we can't afford...who can and who 
cannot,” just before the beginning of, "It's Expensive Being Poor." The steady guitar opens the song as Tim heaves forward anticipating the next beat. In higher registered vocals, there is a ying-yang of fragility and an unnerving undercurrent of raw-to-the-bone in his tone.
He doesn't falter at the bridge. His vocals are more animated as they gradually become sharper and louder. Gliding through the crescendoed chorus of, "Knocking on a bolted door/It's expensive being poor/Someone throw me down some crumbs/I will eat them off the floor/It's expensive being poor/But I look good when I get desperate." Further, as the song crests, soft strums emerge to the end. This song really got the attention of the younger crowd, and for me, it is one of my favorite songs.
With a dark glint in his eye, Tim introduces, "The Lord's Prayer," opening with stomps on the beat. [note: 'The Lord's Prayer was initially written for Lords Of The New Church.] Keeping in time, he stomps with more impact. The memorable verse comes off sardonic in, "I ain't comin' save yourself, This is the Lord's prayer," that ends in a massive crescendo jumping an octave in vocals. The final chorus repeat is shouted, "I ain't comin' save yourself!" leaving me with chills.
Next up is, "Generation Y," a poignant wound of melancholia. Ensuring the message is understood, it is evident that Tim dispenses a lyrical visual by making a great effort in emphasizing each word. In perfect rhythm and diction on every 'plunk,' the trudging beat pushes through words lapsing, then rising to the bridge. After each concluded verse, Tim takes a deep breathe, heaving forward and then rocking back. Throwing 
his energy into the swell, it slowly ends in a bruised accapella.
Following the ending, the audience appears somewhat bitch-slapped as the room is quiet. With no reply, there is a reprieve of silence before the ensuing claps. Ah, that's what I like about these lyrics--they will make this noticeably young crowd THINK.
Without hesitation Tim begins, "In The Arms Of My Enemy," off of his latest CD. In a Spanish/Flamenco-styled guitar influence, this song shows an evolving sense of maturity. There are faster strums in continued succession, and the vocals are more passionate on chorus. Further, by the end of the second verse, Tim throws himself into the thick of--whistling the entire melody which is subsequently not a short stint. The last verse closes with deeper chord strums and fading, as someone from the crowd shouts a proverbial, "Yeah!" with his fist waving in the air. In agreement, the audience claps loudly.
The opening band, Jay Reatard, now joins Tim with the encores. This is where the energy 
shifts to a more spontaneous set. With glowing faces and all eyes on stage, the classic, "Bored Teenagers," crashes in a barrage of choppy electric-guitar mayhem. Tim is leaning into the audience as Jay's guitar twiddlings blur most of Tim's vocals. No worries--90% of the audience is bobbing along with the hard-hitting cymbals followed by big claps.
They were just warming up as, "Gary Gilmore's Eyes," breaks into frenetic, staccato verses in a faster beat which has me pogoing a bit between my writing. Jay inserts an electric riffage and the crowd gets it as the ending drumbeats are followed by a cymballed crash--classic!
In one chord and one shout, the last encore slams right into, "One Chord Wonder." By the time the bridge is played, Tim is whirling about on stage and Jay's curly locks are flailing along with his rocking riff. With Tim belting, "We don't give a damn!" the energy crests into the grand finale. Delivering, Jay layers a slew of guitar wreckage. Moreover, ending the show perfectly, Tim exclaims, "I am proud to be called a punk and to have been when punk started," before leaving the stage with the audience in big claps and a roar of shouts.
RIP Jay Reatard: January 13, 2010