In every aspect, in every way you could imagine, Ray Lamontagne is imperiled by his own talent. There has rarely been a performance as emotional and painstakingly touching as the one he gave on November 4 at the Citi Performing Arts Center in Boston. Of all the concerts I've seen in my lifetime, Ray Lamontagne places in the top three, teetering between first and second. The passion contained within his performance — his lyrics, his persona, everything down to the length of his folkish beard — completely envelopes the audience. The 3600+ seat theater was completely sold out, and the audience was seemingly left in a state of awe.
Ray is known widely for his lack of communicative performances. He does not give interviews, and you certainly cannot meet the man. Other than his mass of talent, I think that really gives his fans that strange feeling of attachment to him. The impossible, the mystery, that feeling of complete detachment — oddly enough this seems to draw his fans in closer. Entirely through his music he is able to communicate the deepest emotions I have ever felt being projected unto an audience, those of hurt, fear, and supreme love. His lyrics and his presence instill a unique sense of creativity and emotion upon the fans he touches. His voice is downright haunting, much in the same way Ray Charles left his mark on our musical lifetime. Some of the strongest pairings of soul and absolute talent can not only be found amongst his three albums, but above all in in his live performances.
In my own opinion, as well as that of many other fans I have spoken with, it comes across that Ray is one of those artists who is almost incomparable to other singer-songwriters in his genre. However, in some accounts I have come across, others have mentioned him as being somewhat like our generation's Bob Dylan. Some have even stated that he could be placed in the same arena as a slightly more soulful Cat Stevens.
I could go on here, telling you all about Ray Lamontagne — where he comes from and the life he has led — and the irony that has placed him on a concert stage in a cowboy hat with just an acoustic guitar and memories of words banked together so remorsefully they could break the hardest soul. But in a moment — a simple moment of a guitar chord played so heavily, yet with so much caution — all such information becomes obsolete.
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