Backstage Magazine
June 26, 2008
By David Finkle
So far as I know, Trevor Exter, who’s just concluding a three-performance Metropolitan Room engagement, is unique. He’s a rock cellist, and if there’s another one anywhere around, he or she has eluded this cabaret scavenger. Exter is also a rock cellist without much use for a bow — although there’s one major exception to this observation, which will be discussed later. Instead of sawing away with the intensity akin to, say, what Keith Richards would do on a guitar, he plucks and picks and frequently slaps the side of his hand on his apparently industrial-strength instrument. Actually, he approaches the cello as if it’s a bass. Maybe he prefers it simply because it’s easier to cart around. Maybe not.
It would be interesting to know how Exter started out training in Pablo Casals land and got to where he is today, but here he is. And he’s not only making the cello sing out — with bassist Jairus Odums and drummer Jamie Alegre exuberantly at his side — but he’s writing the songs he sings as he works those strings with fast-moving fingers. For many of the tunes — which have titles like “On the Night Train,” “Strawberry Wine,” “Flying Saucer People” and “Supermartyr” — he hits a riff and then keeps it going while he gets the words out.
Or doesn’t get the words out, as the case may be, because he’s a rock performer in that aspect as well: Articulating lyrics is not the top priority. For that reason, I can’t say I got all the words, but I did get enough of them to know there’s an interesting mind at work and at play here. If I got it right, one of his lines goes, “Virtue is just depression waiting to go bad.” I’m not sure what he means by it, but I’m certainly intrigued.
Anyone writing about Exter has to remark on his looks. He’s blond and cute and bears a faint resemblance to Chet Baker, which can’t be a drawback. Or is it Steve McQueen? The young women are aware of this, and nodding their heads ringside were a number of long-haired distaff fans who gave every sign of falling into a deep Exter trance. The guy is apparently spoken for, however, since he referred to a girlfriend. Oh, moan.
Now, about that dust-gathering bow. Besides covering Bill Withers’ chart-busting “Use Me,” Exter closed with the Bobby Scott-Bob Russell “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother.” As is his custom, he established an agitated riff, but this time done with furious bowing, and continued it with mounting fervor through a slow, committed reading of the staple. Unusual as the sun setting in the east, but nothing Exter does can be categorized as run-of-the-mill fare — and that won’t hurt him.
Presented by and at the Metropolitan Room,
34 W. 22nd St., NYC.
June 13-27. Fri., 10 p.m.