Josh Harty had been away from music for a few years, but any rust was shaken off before he’d even sung a note.
His glorious slide guitar ushered in a lovely take on the folk standard “The Storms Are On The Ocean”, and from there it was clear that this was not so much a comeback as a reminder.
There is a great collaborative spirit about Harty’s work. “World Of War”, a track he did on an album with Blake Thomas, is a gentle lament, while “Holding On” came out of life on the road in a van. Given that Harty has lived the life of a literal troubadour, travelling the country in his van with his then girlfriend now wife, that feels entirely fitting.
Originally from North Dakota and now living in Wisconsin, Harty has songs written with a collective he is part of, but what comes through most is how steeped he is in the music. “On Your Mind” proves the point beautifully. He is too gifted to stay off the road for too long. It is where he belongs.
If you were asked to conjure a mental picture of what a folk singer ought to look like, you would probably imagine Otis Gibbs. A man, his guitar, his stories, the 7,000-odd trees he planted in a former life, and the sense that moving from Indiana to East Nashville was done almost solely to be closer to the music.
When he starts tonight with “Ditchweed”, from his last album, there are not many better either.
“Caroline” is clever, and Gibbs has the perfect voice for the likes of “Ed’s Blues (Survival)”, but “Sputnik Monroe”, his tale of a 1950s wrestler who tore down racial boundaries, is a particular highlight. Its chorus, “on the right side of history”, becomes a genuine singalong.
“Mountains”, another one from 2025’s The Trust Of Crows, is arguably even more powerful solo than it is with a band, and the same is true of “Eastside”. “Darker Side Of Me” lets his imagination run wild – at least you hope so – while “Small Town Saturday Night”, sung for his old friend Joe, gives way to another moment of poignancy with the beautiful “Something More”, written for a close friend who passed away.
“Ghosts Of Our Fathers” is similarly superb, before “Charles Bridge” becomes his waltz. “If playing a waltz is wrong,” he jokes, “I don’t wanna be right.”
He ends with “Great American Roadside”, his homage to the curios you can find if you just look. It sums him up. You can imagine Gibbs collecting experiences, squirrelling them away, and bringing them out years later when the song demands it.
That is what makes him so good. Make no mistake, he is one of the best.
It is 18 years since MV first saw him, opening for Billy Bragg, and his songs are those of a man who deserves more than to play for 100 people in a library. That said, he is also exactly the type of artist who seems perfectly happy right here.
Maybe that is the point. Otis Gibbs writes songs for rooms like this, for people who listen properly, and for nights where the stories matter as much as the chords. On nights like this, that is more than enough.
