The reason I fell in love with the streaming literary productions of Jack Kerouac was because it was my first encounter with someone who was speaking my erratic teenage language in print; no multisyllabic words or complex structures—just the somewhat deranged contents of his head on paper with a loose plot thrown into the mix. Well, Adam Balbo has the same appeal: he’s merely singing his thoughtful observations. The inner monologue that he obtusely croons is much akin to what your own may produce walking down the street by yourself (as in Sunny Day) or after a falling out with a friend (as in Self-Loathing Song 1) or even after meeting someone you think is hot (Annie). No gimmicks, no polish: just Adam, and the aura of his creations is reminiscent of a male Kimya Dawson; if you love that lovely lady, The Moldy Peaches, and the movie Juno, odds are you’ll gravitate towards this man’s stylings.

He opened for The Shimmies at The Hotel Utah this past week, and the show marked my first encounter with the intimately aged venue I’d heard about for so long; in fact, I just found out my staunchly conservative Grandfather frequented the establishment for lunch when he found himself in the area on business for his advertising agency. I mention this piece of family nostalgia only because it’s nigh unfathomable for me to picture my G-Pa wearing a full suit sitting at a table in a crusty old Victorian hotel that perpetually smells of whatever revelry came the night before and is crawling with hipsters when the sun sets—a crowd with which no grandparent would want to imagine their precious first grandchild fraternizing. Granted, he dined there at least two decades ago and the area around the 4th and Bryant location has changed drastically from one dominated by service businesses—such as paper suppliers, print agencies, etc.—to one that’s on the verge of commercial gentrification yet hasn’t quite sloughed off its seedy underbelly (I’m sorry, friendly crack-addict: I do not have the time to help you find your scrabble board).

What I mean to say is, The Hotel Utah is almost preternaturally hip and as such has weathered neighborhood reincarnations throughout the years. It has delicious greasy-spoon food, friendly bartenders and doormen, and a performance space that practically places the audience in the performers’ laps. If you’re a fan of maintaining your personal space bubble, this isn’t the place for you to see a show. However, if you want to share table space and possibly a few beers with the guys and gals who will later be performing, this IS your Shangri-la.

I saw Adam Balbo standing outside The Utah with his drummer as my group of ladies and I entered. He was wearing a bright red sweatshirt that read “Enjoy Coca Cola” and has a well maintained mullet; this is most definitely a man who is business in the front, party in the back. His drummer was wearing a vest (I do believe of a sweater nature) and a large black overcoat; this is most definitely a man who is ALL business, until you sit him behind a drum kit, that is. Balbo isn’t from California, and perhaps that’s why his succinct songs retain a sort of down-home wry wit that had my ladies and I laughing hysterically. His music is unpolished and awesome, however this may not be the act to shell out money to see live. As much as I enjoy his music, it was extremely difficult to hear him and his guitar was barely audible. Perhaps this was due to equipment malfunctions or an unfamiliarity with the venue; I honestly don’t know. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and reserve any final thoughts until after I see him live again (hopefully on a ticket that compliments him better with like-minded music and musicians). So, while I have seen better performances it certainly didn’t detract from my appreciation of Balbo’s music, capabilities as an artist, and recommendation to buy his album. Check out hisMYSPACE for some sweet tracks, or by viewing the selected video featured below…