105.5 The Colorado Sound Welcomes

Kevin Morby

All Ages
Sunday, November 06, 2022
Door: 6pm | Show: 7pm

We require proof of full vaccination for Covid-19 for entry to this show; a negative COVID test will not be accepted for admittance. Masks are not required but are encouraged for this show. By purchasing a ticket, you agree to this policy.

Kevin Morby with Coco
I. “This is a photograph.” 
The story begins with Kevin Morby, absentmindedly flipping through a box of old family photos in the basement of his childhood home in Kansas City. Anything to take his mind off the events of earlier that day. 
Just hours before, at a family dinner, his father had collapsed in front of him at the table and had to be rushed to the hospital. Hours later, Morby still felt the shock and fear lodged in his bones. 
So he gazed at the images until one of the pictures jumped out at him: his father as a young man, proud and strong and filled with confidence, posing on a lawn with his shirt off. 
While his father regained his strength, Morby meditated on these ideas. And then, he headed to Memphis. 

II. “If you go down to Memphis, please don’t go swimming in the Mississippi River.” 

III. “Stop before I cry.” 
To call This Is A Photograph “Americana” would not do it justice; the word having become a toothless moniker conjuring images of weather beaten flags, rustic junk and anodyne pedal steel. It ignores the grand fucked-up-ness of it all that Morby taps into.
Even the album’s sweetest moments are laced with caution, with Morby imploring his lover to “stop before I cry.” 
It’s a record that doesn’t shy away from the confusion and sadness of the times. “It’s Over,” feels downright stark, as if the the singer was channeling all the loss in his heart and the world into one song: “It’s over, it’s over now, used to take our dinner babe, by the sea, everyone was a winner then, when everyone was free.” 

IV. “Strike up the band.” 
Easier said than done. The logistics of getting people together safely in a room were difficult; so Morby started with a skeleton crew, befitting the times. 
They worked on the song “This Is A Photograph” that last day, with recent Stax Academy of Music alumni singing the backing harmonies. Something so simple that had been so elusive over the previous year: people coming together to spend a few hours making music and helping to shape a dream. As the song played on, Morby’s voice reached a fever pitch: “this is what I’ll miss about being alive.” 

V. “Sun came up.” 
As Morby reminds us early on in This Is A Photograph, time is undefeated. So what do we do while we’re still here? 
This is a photograph of that sense of yearning. That fight. And so, we’ll have tortuous affairs and then listen to Otis Redding. We’ll bury our dead and visit their graves and do our best to honor what they stood for. We’ll fall short, we’ll try again. We’ll toast Mickey Mantle and Tina Turner and Diane Lane. We’ll worry about those we love growing old, weak and frail. We’ll laugh until it hurts. We’ll remember our lover and how they looked all dressed up. Then we’ll go out dancing. We’ll say goodbye to old friends, sometimes for the last time. Then slide into a dream. And then watch, as the sun rises all over again.