A Musician

| 13 Aug 2014 | 06:25

    Laura Stevenson stands on stage in front of a sold-out crowd at The Knitting Factory. It’s the tail end of her tour with Maps and Atlases and she’s wearing a dress. “I never wear a dress to shows,” she tells me later.

    Laura Stevenson is a Prospect Heights-based 26-year-old singer and songwriter originally from Rockville Center, Long island, and her fan base and musical background are both firmly rooted in DIY punk. Her sound, however, is as far as possible from what most people would consider punk rock. Still, her sweet voice and songwriting chops make her one of the most dynamic performers in New York right now, giving those who’ve neglected to pay attention to her thus far no choice but to start.

    Outside the club after the set, a group of boys talk about how they all have crushes on Stevenson. I watch as one of them approaches and peppers her with flirty compliments. I ask her if this happens a lot.

    “It gets annoying when people only feel comfortable expressing appreciation for the music in a sexual way,” she tells me. “at a show in Buffalo a kid yelled that he was going to make love to my mouth.”

    This is especially upsetting to hear, but that may have something to do with the fact that she’s just told me about learning to play bach at age six to please her grandfather, Harry Simeone, the composer of “Do You Hear What I Hear” and “Little Drummer Boy.” (Her grandmother sang in Benny Goodman’s band.) That’s hardly the end of her musical upbringing, though. As a baby, Stevenson’s dad took her to Grateful Dead shows and she spent most of her school days in glee club. “It was kind of like that show [Glee],” she says, “but with no dancing, and no kissing of boys.”

    When she was 19, Stevenson started playing music with Jeff Rosenstock, frontman for the brooklyn-based band Bomb The Music Industry. Laura joined Bomb, playing keyboards, but soon began playing solo sets with her guitar, as an opener.

    “You guys need to hear this,” bomb bassist John DeDomenici would tell the audience. “This is like your vegetables. We are your pizza but you need to hear this, it’s going to make you grow.”

    What makes Stevenson’s music nutritious is a sound that combines country and folk influences like Emmylou Harris with the work of modern-day indie songwriters, ranging from the hymnals of Neko Case to the misery of Elliot Smith. the result is a room full of punk fans watching Stevenson finger-picking her acoustic guitar, singing sad, soulful songs. It sounds like a doomed scenario, but somehow it works. Like musical osmosis, Stevenson’s songs, although far from anything one would call punk, are.

    Around her one-woman act, her band, The Cans, slowly formed, adding a horn section, violin and accordion to the standard rock band arrangement. After playing places like Silent Barn and Hope Lounge for a year, the group recorded A Record, which stuck to the indie soul sound, but with thunderous horn arrangements scattered throughout, creating moments of overwhelming sprawl like the work of beulah or Sgt. Pepper's-era beatles spiked with ineffable punk energy. Perhaps it’s her grandfather’s christmas pop influence, but Stevenson has a knack for injecting accessibility into otherwise wholly complex, sad songs. “When my grandfather had Alzheimer’s, the musical part of his brain never died, he still could play bach from memory,” she explains.

    Back outside the show, fan Amanda Beneway tells me, “Her music is so soft, yet powerful. when i’ve talked to her she’s been so genuine and kind.”

    A few feet away, where that boy flirtatiously compliments her set, Stevenson is gracious. that openness and striving to connect with the audience, to instill in them a sense of community, is what won people over at her very first shows, and it’s what makes her popular standing on Metropolitan Avenue tonight. She might, however, soon be playing for much larger and more diverse crowds. After all, she’s wearing a dress.

    >> Laura Stevenson and The Cans

    Aug. 28, Death By Audio, 49 S. 2nd St. (betw. Kent & Wythe Aves.), Brooklyn, no phone; 8, $TBA.