The Tallest Man On Earth, Webster Hall, NY

If you read any blog posts about The Tallest Man On Earth you are bound to come across the phrase “The Bob Dylan of our Generation.” Now, it’s true that the Tallest Man employs a spritely fingerpicking style that is very reminiscent of Dylan’s early albums. He even has an unusual voice for a singer, full of grit and gravel that can be bark or croon depending on the songs subject matter and tenor. Yet the strongest shared trait between the new and old bard is their ability to write lyrically engaging (if somewhat indirect) songs with memorable melodies.

From the first notes of Tallest Man’s ‘A Field Of Birds’ it is apparent that he has a solid grasp on early American Blues as well as Dylan’s original folk idiom. Throughout the bounce and pluck of the song the Tallest Man injects little riffs that have more in common with those weathered Robert Johnson recordings than ‘Freewheelin’ or ‘The Times They Are A-Changing’. The song’s loose narrative about a man unravelled by a bird and the girl that finds his bones and builds him a meadow in which to recover could have been culled from either songwriter’s catalogue.

On stage, The Tallest Man On Earth (aka Kristian Matsson) strikes a charismatic figure. Lit like a man standing behind a pulpit at dawn, and with a singular black backdrop scattered with white lights, Matsson jumps between the microphone and singular wooden chair that are his props. In turns he stalks the stage, effervesced with gratitude for the audience, and hunches over his guitar. Having finished his second song, the Tallest Man looks slightly chagrined and addresses the audience, “Might have played that song a bit fast, forgive me, this is a big place,” chuckles, and dives into ‘I Won’t Be Found.’

During ‘Pistol Dreams’ the possible desperation and sombreness of the lyrics is buoyed by the jauntiness of the chord structure and melody. Unfortunately, the vocals are loud enough that they create a slight echo effect that obfuscates the pleasant rawness of the Tallest Man’s natural voice.

The lament ‘Love Is All’ begins, “Well I walk upon the river like it’s easier than land / Evil’s in my pocket and your will is in my hand,” and is exemplary of this songwriter’s ability to easily evoke the nature of a relationship in two simple lines.

As the opening strum of ‘King Of Spain’ begins to build the crowd stomp and clap along – a previously unseen show of enthusiasm – like a group of friends gathered on a back porch. Yet, as Matsson sings the crowd dies down, displaying the closest thing to reverence ever witnessed in Webster Hall, and when the first chorus comes around the bend the crowd erupt in unanimous cheer, “I want to be the King of Spain.”

This moment is noteworthy for comparison’s sake. When Bob Dylan began his ascent this audience was primed for his songs, political and indicting at a time when many youth shared his concerns as well as part of a musical rediscovery of folk music. On Monday night The Tallest Man On Earth was playing to a group of New York hip kids, primed on irony, sarcasm, and a probable distrust of politics regardless of their agenda. Yet, these simple songs (executed with technical skill) about displacement, relationships, and the desire for something more truly connected with the audience. Discuss.

There is another comparison can be conjured effortlessly: It’s easy to imagine the Tallest Man’s first revelatory exposure to Dylan, and subsequent feeling of kinship, to be reminiscent of Dylan’s own discovery of Dante in the lower east side of Manhattan.