The stage is practically empty. Delicate white paper lanterns in varying sizes are strung behind the single mic stand. There is a gentle buzz in the theatre.
Couples holding hands (or iPhones), teenage girls in cute dresses, families of four of five, grey-haired women and men, people travelling solo or in little clusters . . . It seems every possible ‘type’ of person is here tonight at the Athaneum Theatre - here to see Mike Rosenberg , or, as he’s better known, Passenger.
The British singer/songwriter has made a name for himself over the last few years – mostly through busking. The very first time I saw him play was in Adelaide. It was a Wednesday night and there were probably twenty other people in the room. We sat cross-legged on the sticky carpeted floor of the tiny band room and we wondered how we’d never heard of this guy before.
Now, almost three years later, I’m sitting amongst hundreds of people in red velvet seats in a beautiful theatre.
The lights have begun to dim and walking out onto the stage now is Stu Larsen . He’s been traveling with and playing music with Mike for years. He has a big beard, an acoustic guitar and a wild tangle of blonde hair which closely matches the colour of his beard. He stands on his tiptoes as he sings which makes him look like quite graceful and a tiny bit like a leprechaun.
Stu speaks softly and weaves stories through his lyrics and poetry. “I fell asleep backstage and only woke up 20 minutes ago.” We’re laughing but are silenced quickly by his incredible voice. He sounds a little like Justin Vernon , in that he has a phenomenal range and a kind of ethereal tone to it. Stu sings of paper sails, poverty, San Francisco, and the chorus in ‘ King Street ‘ has found its way right into my heart. He is asking what the biggest killer in this world is and is telling us that it’s not money, it’s not drugs, it’s not guns, “it’s loneliness.”
And just like that, he exits the stage – but is met with huge applause, whistling and woo’s. Tonight could not have begun in a better fashion.
Sam Brittain
(repping South Australia) is up on the stage now, after what was surely the shortest interval in the history of short intervals. He’s rocking the mid-length hair and acoustic guitar as well. But, unlike with Stu, I’m not drawn in. Maybe it’s the American accent that is coming through in his singing or maybe it’s the standard formula of the song. It’s just kind of predictable although Sam’s guitar playing is rather impressive.
“G’day everyone.” Whoa, okay. He has THE broadest Australian accent. I’m not sure why he’s singing with an American one, though. Perhaps he doesn’t realise? His stage presence, mannerisms and overall persona remind me considerably of Bernard Fanning and Carus .
Sam’s telling a story and I’m laughing along with the rest of the crowd. His sense of humour and that initial icebreaking moment has just completely changed my perspective of him. He seems really down to earth; sincere and honest.
His songs aren’t really holding my attention. It’s the kind of music you can zone in and out of listening to and I’m not captured like I was by Stu. Although, he just sang this line: “And we hope that our lies don’t cloud up our lives in the morning”, which is quite sad but also quite beautiful.
Just about every (super comfortable, red velvet) seat is filled now and there are so many couples that it’s kind of making me feel a bit sick. The lights are dimming once again and everyone is clapping loudly and screaming as Passenger walks out onto the stage. “You look bloody beautiful.”
Ah, there’s that English accent. So good. He is telling us a story about a man he met in Glasgow and although he’s been on stage for less than 5 minutes, he has us laughing already and is interacting with us. There are goosebumps all over my legs and he hasn’t even started singing yet.
The man from Glasgow’s name was David, which is what this song is called. It’s sad and beautiful and classic-Passenger. You could hear a pin drop in here. He has this incredible way of silencing a room. But he also has a way of making people laugh, which is what he’s doing in between songs. “What a bloody depressing way to start the evening.” If his career in music fails at any stage in the future (highly unlikely), he could probably become a stand up comedian.
The thing about Passenger is that he’s incredibly humble. He seems just as amazed by the silent theatre as we are. Even though we are the audience – we’re making it happen, it’s still like, “Wow.” And in a truly “wow” moment, he has decided to unplug his guitar and play ‘ I See Love ,’ which he dedicates to anyone who is in the “process of falling in love.” There is a tiny, secret smile on my face – which has turned into a huge one now that he’s stopped. “Ah, that’s disgusting…wow.” Everyone is laughing so, so loudly. ”You know there’s that moment where you just think ‘Yeah, I could carry on and just hate the next four minutes of my life.’”
He is starting again, after re-tuning and we’re silent once more. It is an incredibly moving experience, as was his little speech earlier about how nice it is to be in a room full of people who “care about music and lyrics.” And we do; we really do.
Tonight, we’ve been treated to ‘ Caravan ‘ which features a whistling part and from there, Passenger moved effortlessly into a cover of ‘ Sound Of Silence. ‘ He has asked us to stand up so we can sing along to ‘ I Hate ‘ and my face hurts from smiling so much. I’m sure I’m not alone in this.
To be honest, he hasn’t really played that many songs. He’s broken the set up beautifully though, with stories and lies and questions and a verse from a Taylor Swift song (featuring the “maa”ing goats). We hang off every word; every carefully sung syllable. There is an earnestness and an honesty which is inspiring.
When he sings, it’s like the music just…gets into your soul – curing every inch of darkness.
We’ve been singing along too and it’s just such a wonderful thing to be a part of. Passenger gives this little nod every time it’s our turn. ‘ Catch In The Dark ‘ ( a brand new song) has produced tears. I think it’s the, “But I know that she’ll never want me,” line and in the unresolved ending.
‘ 27 ‘ is for “everyone who’s pursuing something” – as well as Passenger’s last song. I really, really don’t want this to be over.
But of course, it isn’t over. Not yet, anyway. We’ve clapped and yelled and whistled and there is just this overwhelming sense of love. Love, appreciation, adoration. Stu is back on stage and now they’re singing ‘ Heart’s On Fire ‘ which is positively glorious. The harmonies are divine and are causing us to cheer in the breaks between the lyrics.
Many of Passenger’s shows end with ‘ Holes ‘ which is the ultimate sing-along song, and tonight is no exception. We’re on our feet once more, singing our little lungs and hearts out.
WORDS BY Grace Goodfellow
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