Image for The Tallest Man on Earth, Zierholz – 06/03/2013

The Tallest Man on Earth, Zierholz – 06/03/2013

Written by Zoe Power on March 11, 2013

The intimidatingly titled Tallest Man on Earth began his Zierholz show this Wednesday not with a bang but a whisper – literally.

Taking the intimate stage (above which he towered a less-than-intimidating 5”8′) in a humble white tee
and blue jeans, the man lesser known as Kristian Matsson greeted his rapturous Canberra crowd with
naught but a deliberate ‘hush’ – eyebrows raised, index finger tight to lips, calmly bringing claps and
cheers and universal noise back down to silence.

This coy start, however, would far from set the pace for the night’s remaining entertainment. Rather, it
was something of the calm before a storm of beautiful, intricate and powerfully delivered tunes from an
artist rapidly and rightfully gaining recognition for his unique breed of brilliance within the fickle indie
scene.

Having missed him on his last round of the nation, I experienced the standard regretful fan’s bout of
pre-show anxiety that my long-held favourites from early in his canon would have become stale or
– better? worse? – altogether absent. That fear was quelled, however, by Matsson’s delivery of The
Gardener
and I Won’t Be Found, lead tunes from his full-length debut and instantly recognisable Tallest

Man numbers. These songs came just as the set began to deepen its character, Matsson introducing some charmingly self-deprecating small talk and an intimate acoustic triad. Despite the years since their release, both
were delivered with not only genuine passion but a startling sincerity and authenticity, all those things
of which we come to fear the absence in artists we have loved too long.

While the third song was a recent single, Leading Me Now, this gave no cause for complaint. Instead,
Matsson struck enough balance to woo even nervous skeptics like myself into satisfied appreciation, as
each song – old or new! – built upon and fitted into a tight and structurally coherent set.

Indeed, to watch Matsson perform is to observe an unorthodox master of crowd manipulation at work. Few aspects of his showmanship could be considered standard. The intensity of his steady gaze into the
crowd, his penchant for hunched and frenzied moves across the stage, the theatrical exaggeration of
each facial contortion his lyrics demand, and the jolting continuation of these reactions through his body
are all traits which differ markedly from norms within the folk-inspired style he assumes.

Yet something about this deviation is undeniably effective. This is in part because Matsson’s songs are
so driven by his lyrics, behind the seeming simplicity of which lie a touchingly raw honesty and poet’s
sophistication. The quirks of his style ensure these words will shine, despite the frequent intricacy of his
accompanying guitar.

Through an entrancing and somewhat terrifying combination of neck strains, moving eyebrows,
grimaced jawlines and quivering jowls – and always, always still that unrelenting, direct gaze –
Matsson’s lyrics take the focal ground, his words delivered with the exaggerated expression and exact
enunciation of a children’s television host. Yet somehow, there is nothing forced about his delivery. Rather, the bold honesty with which this
intensity is matched leaves the impression of something between an inquisition and seduction. And
Matsson’s crowds are quick to fall in love.

Of course, it probably helps that he offers more “thanks for listening” than most performers outside
of their first show, last show, or teenage years. It also probably helped that an artist who came to
Canberra on the back of an Opera House show the night before demonstrated such respect for our
humble capital (more than once did Matsson remain standing for what was introduced as a ‘sit-down
song’, and not to get carried away here but I could honestly swear those thanks were genuine).

Regardless, it is a credit to the skill and love with which he delivers his craft that by the time Matsson
declared three songs remaining he did not have to lift even a finger to achieve his desired result. In a
display of Pavlovian adaptation, the crowd dissolved into a hushed chorus of self-imposed shushing in
preparation for his gutsy finale.

A skilled performer in so many ways, The Tallest Man on Earth is not an act you want to miss this time
around.

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