Dana Gross

Slainte, Portland, ME August 4, 2007

With an ear for artfulness and a heart for tradition, Dana Gross has been steadily making a name for himself on the Portland roots scene.

Gross is a master of simple, soulful blues and folk music. He told Performer that he’s been trading CDs with local blues star Samuel James and, at Slainte on a Saturday night, it showed. It wasn’t just in his covers of Mississippi John Hurt and Furry Lewis but in his originals as well. A reverence of form, an attention to detail, an unyielding precision. As he strummed and picked, sometimes with plectrum and sometimes with naked fingers, he stood with his feet firmly rooted on the floor. His movements were almost robotic as his voice dove and leapt across ballads about trains and gypsies and sumac berries. It was the stance of a man who is hardworking and determined, not to be a star but to reach as many people as possible. And if his songs sounded simple, gently gliding off his guitar, it was a simplicity hard earned; the Italians call it sprezzatura, the seemingly effortless grace achieved by years of hidden work and sweat.

The second half of Gross’s set did flag a bit. As comfortable as he was with carefully chosen covers and well-tried traditional forms, his darker, busier pieces requiring complex fingerwork, though executed flawlessly, seemed to come less naturally. Perhaps, though, it was just that the sweltering heat had sapped a bit of his energy (Gross did crack a few jokes about sweat rags).

In any case, it is clear that Gross is a force to be reckoned with. He brings a different element to the local folk/blues scene, which has been ruled for a while by dark messengers like Moses Atwood. It’s not that his music is less “heavy” — in the 1960s-slang connotation — but that it is charged with something besides grief. Perhaps the last song of his set sums it up nicely: “Lord, won’t you sing me a song / Not very fast and not very long / A song about sunshine.” Gross seems intent upon moving boulders to find the hope — and strength — that underpins music borne out of sadness. And it looks like he just might succeed.

-Rosaleen Torrey