"Have you seen him before?" a fan asked me around four minutes before Buck Meek stepped on stage for his headlining set Tuesday evening.
"No, and to be honest, I'm not too familiar with his music," I admitted.
"He's amazing–I've seen him before. We actually live in New Orleans," the fan continued, gesturing to the other person they were with.
Wait, are Buck Meek fans like Deadheads? I thought, and I'm assuming the confusion flashed across my face, because the fan felt the need to clarify.
"No, no... I'm from South Jersey, but when I found out Buck was playing in Philly while I was home, I had to see him here."
"Here," meaning Johnny Brenda's. Meek chose the legendary Fishtown venue as the place to begin the North American leg of a tour supporting his fourth solo LP, February's The Mirror. JB's is a sort of hidden gem—we all know it well, of course, but many visit the first-floor bar and restaurant without ever realizing a bi-level music venue exists above their heads. As for my own music taste, Johnny Brenda's is where I've unearthed plenty of sonic hidden gems—artists I knew little about before their shows, only to walk back out onto Girard Avenue with their latest record in my hand. This past Tuesday night was no different.
Well known as the guitarist for the indie folk band Big Thief, Meek's solo work is harder to pin to a specific genre. He's a true musical shapeshifter—each song he played Tuesday night felt a little different from the one before it. At the same time, a common thread runs through all of his work–while the timbre may differ depending on the track Meek is playing, there's something in each song that ties the whole catalog together.
Meek's wide range of musical interests was on full display before he even stepped on stage for his solo set. To my surprise, the opening band, Kisser, featured three members of the singer-songwriter's support band in addition to Meek himself on guitar. The only members of Kisser to enjoy a reprieve during Meek's main set were bassist Jeffertitti Moon and the band's lead vocalist–the Dutch-born musician Germaine Dunes–who possesses one of the most spellbinding singing voices I've heard in years.
Kisser is still a fairly new project, with Dunes noting that the band's debut single would arrive the following day, July 8th (embedded below). Even in the group's infancy, there is an undeniable magic to their sound. If asked to describe it in terms of music that's already out there, I'd say to "think Björk meets Kings of Leon." I certainly look forward to hearing more from Kisser in the future.
Twenty-ish minutes after leaving the stage in a T-shirt and jeans, Meek returned wearing an open white button-down over a white A-shirt with black high-waisted slacks. It was a small detail, but an effective one. Same person, different music (again, musical shapeshifter). The change in wardrobe signaled that the Buck Meek who had quietly occupied stage left with Kisser had given way to the Buck Meek whose name was on the proverbial marquee.
Meek's undeniable charisma was apparent from the first few chords of his opening song, "Gasoline" (from The Mirror). Strumming his guitar, the singer slowly swept his gaze back and forth across the room, scanning the crowd with a slight, friendly smirk.
"Ooheeah lalo, faroosee mneykro / Will it be me or will it be her / To say I love you first?" He sang with a slight hint of a Texas twang (Meek grew up about 35 miles southwest of Austin). The audience, including the fan I'd spoken to moments earlier, repeated the gibberish phrase back to Meek, fluent in the secret language he speaks about in the song. It was like, yes, a mirror.
The enthusiasm from the crowd continued for the duration of the set; at times swaying, bopping, and tapping along to the beat. Meek's solo work is generally classified as lofi Alt-Country and Americana–a genre that typically draws an older crowd in this city (Hi, Dad). Yet as I navigated through the sea of sweaty humans, searching for a spot toward the back, I noticed many of the attendees seemed younger than me (for perspective, I'm 38).
But as I said earlier, Meek's music doesn't necessarily stay in the lanes ascribed to an artist classified as Alt-Country. He composes like music fans listen—nothing is one-note, a bit like putting on "shuffle." The lyrics don’t always rhyme in the way you expect, but the melodies carry them anyway. Being able to ignore conventional lyric rhyming patterns and still make a song catchy is a rare talent. If Meek has something to say, he’s going to say it—and somehow, the song will still get stuck in your head.
And then there’s Meek himself. He plays with an easy, playful, almost jovial smile, clearly having fun with every moment on stage. He draws people in without effort—looking out into the crowd, locking eyes for a second too long, and suddenly it feels like he’s playing just for you.
Tuesday night was another reminder that Johnny Brenda's remains one of Philadelphia's best places to discover your next favorite artist—the one the algorithm never thought to recommend. In a way, it's a hidden gem that keeps introducing people to hidden gems.
It may be a few weeks before you hear from me again. Nine straight months of concerts, editing photos, and writing stories have finally caught up with me, and it's time to take a much-needed breather. Before I do, though, I want to leave you with one request: take a chance on an artist you know nothing about.
Go see a band because you like the venue. Buy the $20 ticket. Walk into a room with no expectations. You might spend the next 90 minutes discovering your new favorite musician—someone who would've never made it onto your TikTok FYP or into your Spotify recommendations.
That's exactly what happened to me with Buck Meek.
If you'd like to experience the same quiet magic I stumbled into Tuesday night, you're in luck. Meek will be touring North America through December. If he happens to be playing anywhere near you, do yourself a favor and go.
See you on the flip side.
Setlist
Gasoline
Can I Mend It?
Deja Vu
Demon
Soul Feeling
Outta Body
Worms
Pareidolia
Joe by the Book
Certainty
Encore:
Halo Light
Kiss My Mirror
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