<\/p>\n
<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n In the middle of his rendition of the traditional ballad \u201cPretty Fair Damsel,\u201d Sam Amidon<\/a> lets out an unearthly scream. His voice vibrates gratingly on the air for a long, shocking moment. Then, grimacing in mock concentration, he takes a halting, messy jazz solo on his acoustic guitar.<\/p>\n The crowd shifts nervously, unsure whether to laugh. There is palpable relief when Amidon returns to the chorus, strumming major chords and singing about true love. He has the endearing habit of letting his voice crack and waver out of tune, lending unusual intimacy to old songs.<\/p>\n It is a Tuesday night in early April at Club Passim<\/a> in Harvard Square, and so far the show is completely living up to my expectations.<\/p>\n I had been a Sam Amidon fan since the release of his record All Is Well<\/em> on the Bedroom Community<\/a> label, in 2008. All Is Well <\/em>was a moody re-imagining of ten American folk songs, with familiar melodies rendered nearly unrecognizable by modern classical composer Nico Muhly<\/a>\u2019s atmospheric orchestrations. Amidon\u2019s follow-up record, I See the Sign<\/em>, released in 2010 on Bedroom Community, was in much the same vein, with slightly sparer contributions from Muhly and lush percussion from drummer Shazad Isamaily<\/a>.<\/p>\n In the past three years I somehow never managed to make it to one of Amidon\u2019s concerts, so I was especially looking forward to the Club Passim show. I knew, of course, that a live performance would be nothing like the recordings, with their dense, multi-layered arrangements. I had also been informed\u2014or warned, depending on who you ask\u2014that Amidon was \u201ccrazy.\u201d<\/p>\n Amidon\u2019s reputation comes from the fact that his performances are self-consciously eccentric, a trait that would be unbearably pretentious if it wasn\u2019t executed with such wit. At one point during the show, Amidon launches into his version of \u201cPretty Saro\u201d from All Is Well<\/em>, singing exactly one half-step above the key he is playing in. In characteristic fashion, he drags the moment on too long\u2014and then, with an embarrassed chuckle, stops mid-syllable, and moves his capo up a fret. \u201cI was playing in the wrong key!\u201d he explains, and the audience roars. The moment is Steve Martin-esque in its absurdity, with all the elements of a classic comedy bit\u2014except it relies on a bizarre and rather extraordinary musical skill.<\/p>\n If Amidon\u2019s unusual take on American folk music upsets the die-hard traditionalists, it is not because he aims to offend. The fiddler turned avant-garde singer\/songwriter is the progeny of Vermont folksingers Peter and Mary Alice Amidon<\/a>, and even a cursory listen to their son\u2019s recordings reveals that he is not trying to undermine or reject the music on which he was raised. The material on his albums, mined from folk music\u2019s vast archives, is rearranged with exquisite beauty and delivered without a trace of irony.<\/p>\n No, Amidon is not simply trying to bewilder his audience\u2014but what he is<\/em> trying to accomplish is not entirely clear, either. Are his recordings a self-conscious bid to make traditional music relevant in the modern era? Could his stage antics be a pointed attempt to subvert a long-established reverence for tradition? Or is he just a weird guy who likes folk music?<\/p>\n I\u2019m probably over-analyzing it. But Amidon said something that made me believe that, at least sometimes, he over-thinks his music as much as I do.<\/p>\n