Eric Peters

I'm opening the door to a house that I've never been to with an owner I don't know. There's a note on the door: "Eric Peters concert downstairs." I've always loved house concerts, and I hear that many musicians like them as well. There's less barrier between musician and audience. If you're lucky there's no need for microphone or PA.

I hadn't seen Eric Peters since probably '03 or '04 at a concert at UNC Charlotte. I think Cru or InterVarsity put it on. Back in the 90s I had had a couple of songs by Ridgely, Eric Peters college folk duo, that I had always appreciated, and attending that concert ten years ago on a whim had been worth it. This was the impetus to get me off the couch last night to meet up with a friend to see Peters again.

There were about 20 of us, arranged in two rows. A coffee table served as a barrier between Peters and his admirers. I would have liked that table to have been moved. Peters nervously doodled on his guitar as the assembly slowly quited to a low chatter. Into the first song we jumped.

Eric Peters has an endearing inferiority complex. He anecdotally introduces tunes in a stream of concious blur. He'll interupt himself to start over as he realizes there's a better way to say something or turn a phrase. He constantly stares at the floor or iches his neck nervously. It's the type of disarming charm of "I'm just this guy who happens to have a voice and guitar chops" that makes you want to be Peters friend for life. Several songs in, he starts to talk about his bouts with depression. "2009 was a really crappy year for me," he starts in. I think to myself This just got interesting. I struggle myself with depression and anxiety alternatingly. I appreciate an artist who turns that experience into song. Peters has a refreshing and honest take on it that never stews but doesn't shy away from "the dark night of the soul".

In "Voices", Peters confesses, "We choose to love the things that hate us most." He's talking about the voices in his head that tell him he's not worthy of being loved, and in the wrong hands, this could be offputting to someone who doesn't share the same headspace. Here, Peters broadens the appeal to any and every voice that tells us we're doomed to be alone. Peters isn't shy about his faith, but neither does he hide his doubts. I turned over the line "Faith feels like murder" several times. Just what he means is elusive but it rings true.

For about the first half of the show, Peters barely touched the strings of his guitar. It was there, but he was just barely coaxing out the sound. I prefer vocals to sit on top of instrumentation in a live mix, and Peters was doing this naturally. (He wasn't mic'd up.) For the second half of the show, there was a lot more audience participation. After one song, I piped up, "What's your favorite movie?" At a house show, you can ask these sorts of things. He seemed to appreciate the unexpected question and thought for a moment, "Probably Shawshank Redemption." A couple of people murmured, "That's a good one." Before long others were asking and prodding. He seemed to relish it. Come to find out Peters is a book collector, and one of his all-time favorites is Watership Down. You don't know until you ask. He mentioned Frederick Buechner as one of his favorite writers. By the time things were winding down, we were all singing along to his song "New Year". The only thing missing was the campfire.

 

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