Adam Green
Bowery Ballroom, New York, NY
September 22, 2006

Adam Green has the giggles, and they’re infectious.  For over two hours on a Friday night, Green’s fans watched in adoration as he made his way through what isn’t even close to his entire catalog—although it sure did feel like it. A veteran of the New York City anti-folk scene (he was one half of the Moldy Peaches a few years ago), Green is a performer who doesn’t feel obliged to follow any sort of traditional rules. The first few songs he did seemed as though they came from something of a set list, but once the requests started pouring in, the show became an all-request set which at times was in danger of turning into total chaos, but somehow managed to coalesce into one of the most endearing (and memorable) performances I’ve seen.

From anyone else, the tendency to forget a word here and there, or stop a song in the middle and declare it finished would be annoying, but with Green, you shrug your shoulders when he switches gears, and you laugh with him when he stumbles over the words and begins singing nursery rhymes, half in their traditional cadence and half to the melody of his song. That’s the beauty of an Adam Green show—it’s more like hanging out with your best friend and watching him mess around on a guitar than it is a traditional concert (except your friend is incredibly skilled and writes songs that you only wish you could imitate). 

             Opening with the inimitable “No Legs,” Green kicked things off in high style.  The first lyrics—“There’s no wrong way to fuck a girl with no legs”—give you a sense of what you’re in for. There are funny, caustic, and just plain weird songs about Jessica Simpson (as an allegory for red-state America, really), Nat King Cole and bluebirds. The only time Green seemed slightly chagrined was when one persistent fan continued to call out for a Moldy Peaches number, which Green won’t perform solo. “I’m not gonna play it,” was his slightly terse response, before launching into another song.

             Once the show hit the hour and 45-minute mark, the audience started trickling out; Green came back for a second encore. “Everyone’s mad at me because I won’t leave,” he told the remaining crowd, grinning and shrugging. “But I just don’t know how to say goodbye to you guys.” Taking his place behind the piano, he rounded out the night with a cover of “Heart and Soul.” He left the stage with an “adios!”—probably to be caught in the wings by a band member or two, just to keep him from going back out. Jenny Mandeville