New Haven, Conn.
May 28, 2005
BY JASON SONGE
Quinn Walker's eyes were painted black. The color went well with his music. The sound of losing and gaining blood to the head. Coming in and out of sleep slowly. Very slowly. The sound of not keeping up with the medication.
The singer-songwriter from Toronto played melancholy music that withered and swayed with the wind in New Haven Saturday night. It was him, an acoustic guitar, and a tambourine he stomped on. Walker had a tendency towards roaming, skip-songy melodies. Many of his songs had a black midnight romantic groove. The lyrics went right along with it: "She bleeds candy from her vagina." Other topics included colors, water, flowers, candy, and the Moon.
The music wasn't sleepy. It was passionate in its defiant and confused sadness. Walker stomped a lot and used a falsetto that was scary in its rawness and how far he was willing to stretch it. His mournful voice was very soulful and calming.
The performance room was totally dark except for a mult-colored disco ball at Walker's feet. This atmosphere in the small side room went right with the music. No need to see every expression on his face.