If you’ve ever had a conversation with me, it probably has led to music, and then to my favorite musicians that I’ve gotten to photograph and which moments have stood out the most to me. It always comes back to John Maus. I’ve written about him here, here, here, and most recently, here. Having said so much already, why write about him again?
This Saturday night, Maus performed a solo show at Washington Hall in Seattle. The venue was large for Maus and the crowd mature. The stage at Washington Hall has an outline of lights, directing your attention to the only person on stage.
Upon Maus’ arrival, he took a few moments huddled to himself before playing his initial backing track to sing over. This is a ritual of Maus’, a moment of silence before the coming eruption of emotion and sound. Although this is par for the course for Maus, there is a subtle elephant.
This tour is Maus’ first solo tour in 6+ years. After about 5 years of digital silence, Maus reemerged with his album Screen Memories and returned with a backing band in 2017. He toured with his band until Summer 2018, when his band mate and brother Joe Maus unexpectedly passed away while on tour in Latvia.
The rest of that European tour was cancelled, life changed, and Maus announced this solo tour.
Returning for the longest solo set I’ve ever seen him perform, Maus plunged through his many songs. Starting with “My Whole World’s Coming Apart,” and then later “Keep Pushing On,” and “And the Rain” – songs so resonating in this present moment and the many to come. The crowd was audible, but it took until about halfway through the set, right around “Rights for Gays” or “Pure Rockets,” for it to feel like a true John Maus set. The ones I remember from his previous solo days. A small mosh circle was formed and people thrusted their firsts towards Maus while he was motioning towards them.
A glance around the room and you could visibly see people dancing, jamming, responding and receiving (whatever you want to call it) in their own ways to the performance. A look up to one of the ledges along the side of the venue and you’d find a timid family seated right next to another group of friends who were completely lost in their rhythmic swaying to each song.
In a brief and somber slowness towards the end of the evening, Maus performed “And Heaven Turned to Her Weeping,” from Songs, a song I did not know he ever performed live. Via statics from setlist.fm, it looks like their data shows he performed it before in 2007, but has performed it a few times now in 2018. A few lyrics from the ballad include:
“Even though you’re far away from me, you’re in my dreams // and it’s hard to erase you from my memories… Cause this is the time for loving you // but you’re not here with me”.
Maus returned for two encores, another first for me - the second of his encores ending on his iconic “Believer,” from We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves.
As a fan, it is worrisome that this might be Maus’ farewell to Seattle, for now; a gift of another solo tour where he extends himself as much as possible on stage for us. As someone who feels like a friend, I am happy and proud for John, who has no doubt had an incredibly difficult year, but still delivers the most passionate performance I have seen to date.
I’m now reminded of a moment in which John once asked me how his live shows compare to the many others I attend & my answer remains the same: they don’t.
R.I.P. Joe Maus 1988-2018.
