Live and Local: Kevin Neidig

 I’ve seen Kevin Neidig play at Ploughman about half a dozen times. He’s a virtuoso-level guitarist, can write songs that are diverse and complex and challenging, in a country and folk and blues area… he’s also got a very solid and rangy country crooner voice and knows how to use it, and how to write songs that make use of those tools. He’s a consummate pro who also manages to be engaging and fun to hang out with in a small venue for a few hours.

That’s what an actual, grown-up music writer would tell you about Kevin. Then he’d talk about chord structures he uses and take guesses at his influences and try to say something that sounds musicologist-like… something Rick Beato might read and say “hmm.. I see”.

All of those things are true and accurate, and Kevin certainly deserves to have one of those assholes from Rolling Stone write about him, no question. But I’m me, so I’m going to talk about Kevin and a pasta making stooge named Victorio.

Victorio worked at an Italian restaurant called Rocco’s back in the 80s. let’s just say Rocco’s had some unnamed owners, and there was a meeting room in the back that was very rarely rented out for events. It mostly served as a gathering place for friends and associates of Victorio’s older brother, Paul.

Paul was a diversified business man. The restaurant did well, but it was by no means his primary source of income, and in fact you could say that it served as an informal “clubhouse” for him and his associates to meet and discuss matters of the day.

Are you picking up what I’m putting down here? Good

So, I’ve said all that in as vague a set of terms as I can manage, because Paul is still around last I checked, and he might remember me. These next three things, I can say clearly about Victorio: he was huge, he was not bright, and he made fresh, hand-made pasta as well as anyone ever has on this earth.

Victorio (I would start calling Vic for the sake of easier reading, but Victorio didn’t like being called Vic and he’s still around as well…and last time I saw him, he was twice my size) used to lock his keys in his car about 5 times per month. Paul got him a AAA membership just for that reason; he was on a first-name basis with the guy in the wrecker who used to come out and jimmy his door every week.  

Victorio made all the pasta for the restaurant, right from scratch. Flour and eggs on a big wooden table. He would work massive amounts of dough just right, then roll it out and run it through various hand turned rollers to make linguini, or ziti, or whatever it was he was making. He could do it almost unconsciously, carrying on a conversation or watching a movie, or even cleaning the kitchen while he did it, and it was always wonderful and perfect.

There wasn’t much Victorio could do, but he made pasta so well and so perfectly that he could do it in his sleep. The sheer ease and comfort he took from doing something so incredibly well always stuck with me.

Now, Kevin Neidig is not twice my size, and from what I know of him, he’s remarkably intelligent and seems like a legitimately good guy. I don’t know if Kevin can kick my ass, but I know for sure Victorio – to this day – would squash me like a grape. They really have almost nothing in common at all.

Except, Kevin plays music the way Victorio makes pasta. It’s part of him and it comes out so naturally,  if he’s standing there talking to you about football, there’s part of you wondering why he’s not playing music right this minute.

As noted, I’ve seen Kevin play at Ploughman a few times, and am always stricken by the detail, intricacy and effortless embellishment he plays with. My first impression was that he must be a studio musician, someone who plays for hours every day in addition to gigging.

Eventually I started to get a better feel for his original songs, and I went on and bought his CD last time he played.

The recording is very professionally done, and his songwriting is diverse and interesting and as natural and flowing as victorio’s linguini.

What stands out to me most, though, is the mastery and joy of how he plays and sings. This is someone who undoubtedly has put in his hours, and not just in honing his craft at playing a guitar… in singing and composing and performing. He makes it look easy, which is a shame because I’m sure he’s busted out some serious serious time taking everything else and putting it in a box while he worked on that endlessly.

Listen, live music is like pizza, in that it’s always  good, but sometimes it’s sublime (as in holy and great, not actually the band). Kevin gets there with a surprising level of consistency that you don’t often get to hear. I’ve seen it a few times, like when Neil Sollenberger is having a great night (maybe Shannon let him pick a couple of songs for the set that night, so he’s feeling spicy), and he’s working through “Wild Horses”, and just going through the embellishments and fills like a waterfall while Shannon sings and you just close your eyes for a minute and smile. Nothing to say.

Or when Shine Delphi is between songs and trying to decide what to play next and he closes his eyes and smiles and just starts noodling until something pops into his head. It’s worth coming out for just those few minutes even BETWEEN songs.

That’s what Kevin is like when you see him live and, it turns out, his recorded work captures that as well. His latest is called “Questioning the Forty”, available on streaming sites all over, or better yet catch him live and his wife will sell you a CD.

If you see him at Ploughman, ask Gabe to make you a Yardbird.  And tell Kevin Tom says he sings like Denver/Fogelberg, plays like Stephen Stills, and writes songs like old Kenny Loggins. And you can tell him I spent half the review comparing him to a huge thug that makes pasta. He’ll have the same look on his face you probably did while you were reading it.