Patrick Watson's Set Is A Dream

Patrick Watson had five megaphones sprouting from his back on twisted wires like Dr. Octopus drawn by Dr. Seuss. His band were trailing behind him on patch cord tethers, all plugged into his megaphone suit, wandering through the aisles of Trinity-St. Paul's United Church. Up on the balcony, he sang through five robot mouths to a charmed audience.

And this was just the encore.

Some time earlier, Watson was a six-metre-high shadow projected on the giant pipes of the church organ. On beat, the lights flickered and other shadows loomed over the stage like a pagan pantheon. The gods' mortal counterparts turned a Looney Tunes moment from the new album, Wooden Arms — with scampering piano, a squeaking balloon, and even a slide whistle — into an epic crescendo. Sound comedy and raw power went hand-in-hand in this place and talent radiated off the stage.

In addition to the small string section, every player in Watson's four-piece band (that's also called Patrick Watson) played multiple instruments, from a kazoo to two separate drum kits. The gear coated the stage, which wasn't exactly small. In controlled lighting, the clutter was unnoticeable, but it was still daylight and the house lights were on when local kalimba darling Laura Barrett took the stage. Alone in the mess of wires and instruments, she looked like a little girl skipping through a junkyard.

Watching Barrett play her small thumb piano is a little like watching somebody play a handheld video game or type an elaborate text message. The amplified plinking sound that filled the room seemed like it must be spontaneous. It couldn't come from the little box in the girl's hands.

After playing two songs from her Earth Sciences debut EP, Barrett was joined by banjo, violin and xylophone players. Reinforced with more plucking and ringing instruments, Barrett performed material from her more recent album, Victory Garden. Together, the twinkling band sounded like childish magic. If the players had all gracefully floated off the stage and twirled around the great central chandelier, it would have made perfect sense to everybody.

It made perfect sense to cast Barrett in a supporting role to Patrick Watson, the man/band who makes the music you dream of as you fall asleep, but forget by morning. When he spoke, his fast-talking mumble was barely intelligible. When he sang, his high, clear, gentle voice sounded like he was whispering in your ear like he could protect you from the storm outside. There was no storm outside, but it sure felt like there was.

After Barrett's final plink and curtsey, the lights went down and the wind machine churned up a gale. The fabric-covered barrel created a whooshing sound when turned by Watson's lanky silhouette. Flashing digicams provided in-house lightning and the massive church took on the intimacy of a candle-lit cabin in the winter. We were all in this together and the dream had only started...