After being named for The King, Elvis Perkins had a hell of a legacy to uphold when he decided to go into music. That’s like naming your kid Picasso and letting him paint. It’s a good thing that Perkins knows what he’s doing. He sings earnest folk rock like Jeff Mangum, but writes and composes like Sufjan Stevens minus the pretense. His 2007 debut Ash Wednesday was so personal that it bordered on uncomfortable, especially on the side written after his mother died in 9/11. A lesser artist would harp on tragedy to get cheap sympathy, but Perkins crafts albums that enthrall the listener with smart lyrics and rich, deliberate orchestration. But praise has given Perkins a new problem—is it a greater albatross to be named Elvis, or to be called “the next Dylan?” A.A. Bondy opens Perkins’ first gig in Nashville—excluding an in-store at Grimey’s.
Tue., Nov. 17, 9 p.m., 2009
Tue., Nov. 17, 9 p.m., 2009
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