Brian Christinzio – the Philadelphia-born, Manchester-based musician – has long flown under the radar. Under the moniker BC Camplight, he has released a string of critically-acclaimed albums since 2015, yet mainstream recognition continues to evade him. Tonight, the crowd is modest but devoted, the atmosphere warm and suitably intimate. It is the opening night of BC’s UK tour in celebration of his new album, the textured, dark, and lush A Sober Conversation.
The themes of the record are heavy, as Christinzio confronts sobriety, and revisits long-buried childhood trauma. Yet the music is utterly charming, unpredictable, and refreshingly free of pretention. It sits somewhere between Father John Misty and The Divine Comedy, paring personal reckoning with virtuosic, vibrant musical composition.
Opener ‘The Tent’ – both of tonight’s set and the new album – establishes this balance expertly. The song opens with a droning hum, as Christinzio walks on stage with his excellent session band, sporting a wide David Byrne-esque jacket and baseball cap. The song is dazzling, its muted, disorienting verse breaking out into a euphoric coda. It is replete with grandiose stabs of piano, washed out guitar, and choral vocals that elevate the room. As is customary with BC’s music, the lyrics are intensely personal, as he recounts an act of abuse he suffered at summer camp in 1993 (“Maybe I’ll tell a big secret, Wake it from hibernation”).
It’s heavy stuff, but Christinzio seems keen to decentre these themes from the performance’s core. In between songs, his self-deprecating, razor-sharp humour leavens the subject matter. He jokes that he’s glad anyone turned up to tonight’s gig (“for the first 15 years of my career I was playing to no one”), and that his band are finally good enough to play his songs. He is a veteran of the scene for twenty years, and perfectly orchestrates both his music and the atmosphere in the room.
Musically, the setlist is impeccably chosen and remarkably diverse. Later in the performance, ‘Fear: Life in a Dozen Years’ could come from an 80s spy-cop film, complete with swirling, Lynchian synths, smooth saxophone, and hushed vocals. It is trance-like and gorgeous, before crashing into an off-kilter, heavy metal bridge. Lead single ‘Two Legged Dog’ shifts seamlessly from an upbeat, cowbell-adorned verse to a staggering, powerful wall of synths in its mid-section. Like much of Christinzio’s music, one song seems to contain ideas from completely different genres. Though this could turn some people away, his unpredictability is consistently winning and unique in the live-setting.
As much as BC’s maximalism is superbly engaging, some of the most powerful moments in this set come at a lower volume. After a lovely rendition of ‘Just Because I Love You,’ the band leaves Christinzio alone at the piano. He is taking requests, and ends up playing a stripped-down version of ‘Atom Bomb’ (“this one is really sad and depressing, so thanks to the people in the front row”). It is a stunning, swampy jazz piece, and a perfect showcase of his talent on the keys. A rare moment where the music accompanies, rather than confutes, the lyrics (“You’re too physical, and I’m a father, Dinner’s ready and we can’t be bothered”).
The band then joins him on stage for ‘Drunk Talk,’ a woozy, ambient song about endless conversations with strangers in bars. “Recently I became two and a half years sober” he tells the crowd, before revealing that his newfound ‘clarity’ has not always been a good thing. It is clear that the adversity Christinzio has faced throughout his life greatly informs his music.
After originally trying to breakthrough in the Philadelphian music scene from 2005 to 2007, he has encountered addiction, homelessness, and deportation. Indeed, arriving at the encore, he admits reticence about playing music from his days in Philly (“I didn’t like who I was back then”). Yet, for the first time in twenty years, he performs his first hit single ‘Blood and Peanut Butter’ from 2005 debut Hide, Run Away. It is an emotionally poignant moment, signifying a confrontation of the past, rather than a withdrawal from it. The song itself is lively and brimming with ideas, as bright shimmers of piano accompany lovely melodies and grainy synths.
Bookended by songs from the new album, the set ends in showtune style with ‘A Sober Conversation.’ Christinzio takes his piano stool and holds it up to the crowd, singing about finally confronting his past: “Boys like me feel it all”. It is a euphoric end to an excellent, refined selection of music, BC Camplight proving himself as a unique, alternative voice in indie at the top of his game.
Conor Lang