Photographs by Maya Setton.
There was a palpable air of excitement as the crowd waited for Chet Faker (Nicholas James Murphy) to take the stage. In the 3 years since his home recorded Blackstreet cover No Diggity started making waves, his popularity has surged. Buoyed by collaborations with fellow Melbournite, Flume, a well-received EP Thinking in Textures and debut album Built on Glass, the 26 year old Australian has been busy. Striding to centre stage, he took a knee and bowed his head towards the crowd before wasting no time setting up a melange of sounds. Taking a quick breather, he engaged the audience. “How’s it Toronto? All good? I’m just gonna play some tunes for you.”
Despite the constant roar of the crowd he seemed drawn into his own bubble, as if unaffected by the attention. Unerringly down to earth, there was a loose, almost improvisational tone to his arrangements. Perhaps drawing inspiration from his namesake Chet Baker, there was a freeform jazz quality, reined in by obvious intimacy with his own samples. Witnessing a live performance was a whole different experience from his recorded material. With all production done live, layers were established one after another, vocal loops sampled and stacked. Tracks had a chance to breathe, with Murphy only too willing to veer from known vocal arrangements. It felt like an organic, unique performance, driven by mood in lieu of preconceived structure.
Familiar tracks found new life on stage. As the twinkling keys of Terms and Conditions dropped in like water on a lake, his low key vocals felt stripped back, demure, without dampening the atmosphere. Impossibly light on his feet, he bobbed and weaved like a boxer between laying down synths and beats on Blush, notching up a filter or two, bringing in rumbling bass then stepping back to sing a verse. To Me plunged the room into darkness, lit by the faint yellow light from his deck. As he laid down harmonies of vocal loops over a simple synth line, a hush befell the crowd. Bringing the synths to a rise, blue backlights gently rose. Steadily stacking up production elements, he started pooling the composite parts into a cohesive wave, lit by warm purple hues. The hush gave way to emphatic cheers as the song reached its zenith, creating an enveloping blanket of sound.
Murphy’s earnest gratitude shone through his banter. He dedicated Cigarettes and Chocolate to the memory of his beloved dog. “She’d just lie there as I worked on my tracks. For some reason whenever I started this one she’d sit up and her ears would perk up.” It was an endearing anecdote that made the song glow. At its conclusion he thanked everyone, as an independent artist, for all their support making it possible for him to do this for a living. “Now I’m bringing you back to where it all began for me, with a cover I messed around with in my basement.” Throwing out the one-two punch combination of No Diggity transitioning seamlessly into Flume collaboration Drop the Game, there wasn’t a stationary body in the audience. Casting a glance back to the upper level of the Danforth Music Hall, the entire floor was a shifting mass of movement. Pointing the mic towards the audience, you could feel the chorus of voices resonate throughout the hall. Do yourself a favour; see this guy the next time he plays, before he’s selling out stadiums.
