In the great energy field called the universe, there are many energies. When a musician expresses his, we can use any number of hoary old cliches to describe what they do. Hendrix's was fire; the Stones, sex; the Beatles, melodic rainbows; Black Sabbath, devil's feces; Tori Amos, cramps; Allman Brothers, southern rivers; Bon Jovi, hairspray; Pink Floyd, hallucinatory drift; the Grateful Dead, burning braided armpit hair.
Et cetera.
With relative newcomer 36-year-old Kurt Vile of five albums to his name, the word 'vibe' comes up a lot. And I must concur. I spent the evening with him recently, Saturday, April 3, to be exact. It was in a nice-sized room, the ageless Newport specifically, but it could have been a broom closet. I haven't felt closer while standing farther from an artist. Something about that boy, I must admit, makes it easy to breathe the same air he does.