Onstage, Megan Hickey, who performs (along with a revolving ensemble of musicians) as The Last Town Chorus, gives an impression of extreme concentration, eyes fixed mysteriously on some specific point in the distance. The effect is one of cloistered rectitude, an almost spiritual otherness, though Hickey makes it clear that the rest of her life isn’t quite as focused.
“I’m not like that offstage,” she explains with characteristic humor. “Good heavens, no! I’m really transfixed by the sound of the instrument.”
The “instrument” is, in reality, Hickey’s other voice, the accompaniment to all her shows and practically a member of The Last Town Chorus in itself: A vintage 1940s lap steel guitar. It’s a keening and ethereal creation, unmatched in its conveyance of wasted beauty, but perhaps not the first choice one would expect from a young performer brought up in the age of Boy George.
“It was a happenstance discovery. The sound [of The Last Town Chorus] is a lap steel paired with fairly rich delay textures, and the marriage of those two makes something that’s far more magical than the sum of its parts. I’ve always looked at it as two intertwined voices.”
The uniqueness of Hickey’s style has allowed her to experiment, finding her own distinct way through the course of two impressive CDs—the second, Wire Waltz, is scheduled for U.S. release next month.
“It’s a very forgiving instrument because you are sliding between notes. I’ve played it by instinct, and that wouldn’t fly on a six-string guitar.”
Of course, lap steel is most associated with the whiskey-tempered peals of classic country, a style Hickey admires but doesn’t necessarily emulate.
“I’m not so sure that it translates in any obvious way to The Last Town Chorus’ music, but probably the genre I listen to most is just straight-up, overproduced, high-sheen country music. It’s not so earnest as folk music, which can be aggravatingly earnest. It’s just real.
“I don’t like ‘cool,’” she adds. “I’m utterly disenchanted with irony in indie music.”
Nowhere is this principle more evident than on Wire Waltz’s first single, a haunting version of David Bowie’s “Modern Love.” Supported by Hickey’s strong voice and coruscating steel, it seems both an elegy for lost ideals and a reclamation of the purity we all keep tucked away somewhere inside.
“Music, for me, is a catalyst for living more deeply.”
Feb 24, Union Hall, 702 Union St. (at 5th Ave.), Park Slope, B’klyn, 718-638-4400; 8, $8.
