Live at Tonic, NYC, January 20th
Peace. Peace. Peace.

There’s a certain poetry to knowing exactly who you are. Benjy Ferree knows just this much. Armed with a seemingly carnal knowledge of melodic phraseologies both, maddening and disarming, Ferree was born with the pixie dust required to give songs velocity of any and all stripes. It’s in his bones, you see. But
seeing the live translation of songs so beautifully realized can sometimes be a hard serum to swallow.

His record — Leaving The Nest, somehow still gliding very much under the radar, Ferree’s live show is something of an oddity. His
CMJ debut in October was riddled by muddy sound, “Dog Killers” the only album cut able to roar loud enough to break loose of the of the PA rattle. Tonight would be an evening on which all of Ferree’s vignettes would take flight, the set short, but the aftereffect of the kind that lingers for days.

TK Webb gave Tonic a bluesy kick in the shins. A space usually reserved for the long-haired experimentalism of Japanese noise imports or candle-light flicker local folk offerings, Tonic’s air needs
desperately the smoke and juice served up by Webb and Ferree. The difference could be seen in the twitchy crowd. Tonight there would be no spoken-word performances on the main stage. Standing room was tight. They wiggled and they jiggled and
they tapped their frostbitten toes, thank you very much.

From the roadhouse to the treehouse, the transition between Webb and Ferree made perfect sense. The opening seconds of “Private Honeymoon” were bracing, though the DC troubadour seemed unwilling to delight in his own sounds. He rushed, never slowing to enjoy all the glorious swells, and “Honeymoon” in particular is the type of song you’d love to bathe in, sitting for hours until you prune. Rarely did Ferree say much in each
break, opting instead to spit the simple poetry of Public Enemy. He ripped through a fiery rendition of Hot Snakes’ “Braintrust” and stomped sumo-style about the stage, mustache aflutter. But he didn’t seem as in love with the songs as we did. He looked as though he wanted off. He seemed almost crestfallen.

Peace.

His tunes trot. They pirouette and trampoline into the very circuitry of your soul. But it’s difficult to see Ferree strumming alone. Perhaps uncomfortable in front of a New York crowd, Ferree seemed to play for those he trusts, those who make him feel safe: his troupe. Friends are more important than these
songs, the latter never a possibility without the former. Ferree knows that just as well as he knows himself.

Peace. Peace. Peace.

Benjy Ferree Official Site
Domino Records