Rosy Nolan (3)/Andrés Miguel Cervantes @ Healing Force of the Universe, 2/18/2025 (#12)
We're all friends here
Healing Force is an oasis in Pasadena. The name suggests the record store will be stuffed with new age artifacts, Yanni'd to the gills with records reeking of that one human voice synth patch. Instead, it has a nice, curated collection of wax. My hauls have been appropriately diverse: Comets on Fire, Suzi Quatro, Renaissance, Dylan Leblanc, etc. And while its bread and butter is an extensive rock/pop rack, there's plenty of bin space dedicated to country, electronic music, and everything in between. And, of course, they have shows there, too. Unlike Permanent Records Roadhouse, you're almost encouraged to stand between the racks, hearing music while surrounded by music. It's a nice setup, which makes it feel homey. You could be hanging out in someone's living room, provided that living room had $20,000 speakers and booze to buy.
But maybe the living room vibe has some legs. An old show-going acquaintance told me Andrés Miguel Cervantes did indeed play in his living room. (The specter of the fires still hangs over Los Angeles: That living room burned down.) The San Diegan singer/songwriter who now lives in the Bay has a style that acquits itself well to such an environment: intimate, unpretentious. He's also something of a folk music scholar, with a studious sound that fits in alongside his influences: Townes Van Zandt, Fried Neil, and Guy Clark Jr., among others.
Of course, what impressed me about Cervantes was his right hand, which was able to pick with the acuity of Willis Alan Ramsey. This was some casually virtuosic shit and was made even more impressive by the fact that Cervantes was able to sing dexterous vocal melodies on top with a voice that was both mellifluous and sanded down by the troubles of the world, not unlike Van Zandt. The highlight was "The Crossing," a killer ballad about migrants crossing the border. And when Cervantes was occasionally joined by a harmonica player who doubles on harmonies, the richness of the material really came alive.
Liveliness is a good way to describe Rosy Nolan. I had a friend describe her music as "cute," too, but I think that belies the subtle toughness that runs through her tunes. Nolan strikes me as someone who won't take anyone's shit, something that smolders in the songs about love won and lost in particular. In other words, there's a tough edge even to the sweet stuff, which is exactly what you want out of honky tonk.
Nolan has a new record coming out and played a lot of selections from what will be her first new set in years. The same band that backed her on record did so again on stage, and hot damn, can that band play. Dueling mandolin and guitar leads, a brilliant bassist who can ride the hell out of the basslines, in all service of some mighty toe-tappers and cry-in-your-beer ballads. "We're all Eastsiders at a place named Healing Force," Nolan said to the crowd. "I think we're all on the same side." The song she was introducing was written during the 2016 election. Remember those quaint old days? And the way that song unraveled, a narrative that was an anthemic bummer that still inspired hope, recalled far older days, too. It hit the heart, giving it a punch and a hug. Yeah, we're definitely on the same side, Rosy.
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