If there’s a better place to hear independent music than The Space in Hamden, Connecticut, I’ve never seen it. You may argue the “concert experience” merits of a venue that doesn’t serve alcohol, has a strictly-enforced rule against talking in the concert area while anyone is playing, and is decorated like an explosion in a knick-knack factory, but if all you want to do is hear the music, it’s certainly difficult to beat.

The opening act for the Sept. 25th show was Saint Joe Hazelwood, a sort of folk collective led by one Chris Alspach — or at least all of them that were able to attend the show. For this particular event, they were a guitar and flute duo. Much as I like the idea of a guitar and flute duo conceptually, it lacked something in the execution. They played five lower-mid-tempo songs that were very difficult to tell apart, in a manner that would make Low look like GWAR. Although Alspach’s vocals are something of an acquired taste, the group comes across rather better on CD; this sort of music depends heavily on texture, and there simply weren’t enough instruments in this performance to provide the proper depth.

After they finished up, Aeroplane, 1929, a New Haven band whose name predates that of Death From Above 1979 by fifty years, took the stage. The change from the previous act was neck-wrenching; Aeroplane, 1929 began their life as an emo-punk band, but live at least, are closer to a straight-up rock and roll band, the kind you might expect to hear in your classier garages somewhere in mid-America. It wasn’t earth-altering, but it was fun; the band was tight, and they seemed to enjoy themselves. I picked up a copy of their new CD after the show; a review may be forthcoming.

Next up was Elijah Wyman. For someone who ostensibly has a current CD to support, Wyman’s set list was kind of perverse: a mere three songs from the new CD, Why We Never Go Swimming, And Other Short Stories, and only one from its predecessor, Beautiful Like Words. The remaining five or six songs were all new, and Wyman hinted that a new CD could be ready as early as late winter.

There was a definite change in mood in the new songs. Where BLW was hopeful, and Swimming was brimming with theatrical tragedy, the new pieces are both quieter and sadder. The shift even extended to the way he performed the “old” songs: “Why We Never Go Swimming” is a driving slice of Southern gothic dixie in its recorded form, but as he played it live, accompanied only by his acoustic guitar, it was a solitary moment of despair, sung as if it almost hurt too much for him to finish. The effect was stunning; if you haven’t discovered Elijah Wyman yet, you’re missing the work of a singluar talent — and one that appears to still be improving. I can’t emphasize this enough. Go buy Swimming, and then see if you can get him to tour all those places west of here where you people insist on living.

Everyone had talked up Kind of Like Spitting — which, despite the band name, is one guy, singer/guitarist Ben Barnett — and so I was pretty excited to hear his set. His stage presence is excellent (”stage” is used loosely here, as he insisted on playing without the PA, seated nearly in the first row of audience chairs), and his between-song comments were very funny, doubly so as he appeared to be so tired that he might start hallucinating at any moment. Nonetheless, I wasn’t particularly convinced by the music itself. Barnett’s cartoonish vocal affectations of the sort rarely seen outside Weird Al Yankovic records are utterly distracting, and the performance in general gave the impression of someone trying way too hard; it was very difficult to take him seriously, but it didn’t seem appropriate to take the material as wholly a joke. The sole exception was when he threw in a couple of cover versions: his take on Andrew Jackson Jihad’s “People” was nice, and he plays a mean Phil Ochs. But at least he’ll have a career in comedy whenever he decides not to do the music thing anymore.

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