Jeff Taylor opens up

He made a splash at Rockwood Music Hall last night, but who is Jeff Taylor? After seeing him play live, I have a few stabs:

• the male Bjork
• a possessed Bobby McFerrin
• the petri-dish lovechild of Jeff Buckley and Mr. Bungle
• an angrier Nico Muhly
  
• Ben Folds after severe head trauma
  
• the Victor Wooten of a cappella
• this guy

All comparisons meant to shed light on some element of his performance, yet none quite hit the mark. Like any good musician, Taylor completely owns his own sound, and while he's up on stage he may as well be the only musician on earth. Maybe this has something to do with his bravura compositions, which swing stylistically between folk ballads, free jazz, beat poetry, and death metal -- often within the very same song. Simply put, he's got his bases pretty well covered.

Which is not to say he's got it all figured out. Taylor's songs are like encapsulated therapy sessions, and his lyrics have a splayed-open, tormented honesty that will rivet any attentive listener. While he's singing, Taylor also stares at his mic like he wants to bite the thing right off its stand and swallow it whole. Maybe he should just go ahead and do it -- we'd be able to hear his insides better that way.

If you want to hop into the tornado, Taylor's got an upcoming show at Mercury Lounge that'll involve a bigger band than the sizzling bass-and-drum duo that backed him up last night. He'd better bust out his melodica, though. (I know you've got one, Jeff -- I've seen pictures.)