Kenneth Pattengale is the type of musician that everyone likes.  He is charming, unassuming, and exudes that down-home humility that makes you want to root for him. He climbs onstage and, unless you have seen him before, you are not quite sure if he is just another roadie, picking up the guitar to tune it.

The confusion quickly fades, however, as he begins to pluck the strings and steps into the light that illuminates the center-front mic stand.  His dirty-blond hair is transformed into a shining halo around a cherubic face that smiles just a bit shyly as he greets the audience with a rural accent that belies his Los Angeles roots.

His first songs were equally unpretentious.  At one point, I remember looking up at Kenneth as he sang “…they don’t make them like that anymore…” and I couldn’t help but want to argue. Crafted in the American troubadour tradition, Kenneth channels the likes of Dylan, John Prine, Tom Waits, and M. Ward, weaving earnest lyrics into ballads of bygone eras and simpler sympathies. Horses go out to pasture and birds come home to roost in his songs. His metaphors invoke a sense of timelessness; old sayings fold you into a warm blanket of familiarity.

He doesn’t stop there, however.  As soon as you have put him in your mind as a folk musician, his band comes out and Kenneth morphs into a man who can play junkyard blues, early jazz, rocky reggae, and country that is just twangy enough.  Kenneth wails as well as any Clapton, and has the guitar chops to go with it.  I was impressed by his skill with his instrument, as well as the musical flexibility of his band. An extremely talented and versatile musician, it will be interesting to see where his career takes him, even after the popularity of the anti-folk movement has waned.

For more information: Kenneth Pattengale’s website.