Brian Slattery Photos
Two New Haven-based bands — Love ‘N Co. and Thabisa — brought groove and growth to Cafe Nine on Friday night, as both made music that nourished heads, hearts, and feet.
Love ‘N Co.‘s songs ranged from high-energy funk to surging pop. The band — Lovelind Richards on vocals, Lamar Smith and Ilya Gitelman on guitars, Brendan Wolf on bass, and Eli Farland on drums — was a tight unit, with Wolf and Farland a muscular rhythm section and Smith’s and Gitelman’s guitar lines bouncing off each other. But the audience’s eyes were glued to Richards and her magnetic, exuberant stage personality. “I love you, Lovelind!” someone called from the audience, surely speaking for many.
In between songs, Richards took the chance to be vulnerable. “We have all just come out of an intense situation,” she said. Many people discovered, in an acute way, what they could and could not live without. “My thing is physical touch,” Richards said, “and when there’s no one to touch me — that can be intense.” Her statement was a prelude to song that turned out to be a meditation on loneliness. As she sang, the audience moved closer to the stage, “I’m bursting at the seams,” she sang, “I’m drowning under dreams and I don’t know if I can make it.”
The strength of her voice and the music around her, however, left no doubt that she would persevere. Richards drew power from her vulnerability.
“After that song,” she said, “we need a triumphant song. This is the song I sing every time I’m sad.” As the band dove into it, it was easy to see why. “We got to break free from trauma,” Richards sang, as the music crested around her. “We got to break free from chains / We got to break free from choices that we didn’t even make / We got to break free from sorrow / We got to break free from shame / Please let me be the change / So we can move out our own way.”
Thabisa started her set seated on a stool on the floor in front of the stage, her band — Dylan McDonnell on flute, Tim Kane on trumpet, Cliff Schloss on guitar, and Jim Lawson on bass — standing in their lights behind her. The set was notable for its lack of percussion; without a drummer, Thabisa’s music felt lush and vital. The audience, meanwhile, filled in the rhythm, clapping in unison on the backbeat, stamping their feet on the downbeats.
In between songs, Thabisa took time to say what was on her mind regarding how the audiences for live music had grown since the reopening from the Covid-19-related shutdown. “I see this wave of respect and understanding, and wanting to meet artists where they are. I hope it’s not a moment in time. I hope it’s a culture we are creating, where artists are seen, and paid, and respected.”
She settled into a slower number at one point that turned into something like a guided meditation. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Think about your mom, your dad, your brothers and sisters, your community. Your own body. Imagine yourself not feeling so in pain, not in the shackles of your debt. What does that feel like? Just for a second?”
A song that she announced would be her last was soothing and improvisational, and spoke of going home. The audience wanted one more, and Thabisa and the band obliged. This time there was no clapping or stomping from the audience. It wasn’t needed. There was more than enough pulse from the music, and people moved their hips and shoulders in time. The rhythm had worked its way into them.
