Donovan Woods in Wolfville

About two weeks ago we were listening to Donovan Woods on the car radio, and I declared boldly “if Donovan Woods came to town, I’d 100% get us tickets.”

A week passed.

We were driving to Nova Scotia, listening to Donovan Woods on the car radio again. Lisa casually mentioned that she heard something about him coming to play Charlottetown. I looked it up: she was right, but, alas, he was playing Charlottetown Saturday night, and we’d be in Halifax.

Sigh.

I continued to scroll: he was playing Wolfville on Sunday.

We’d be in Wolfville on Sunday!

Lisa led the charge to carry us through the wormhole of rejigging our plans so we could stay an extra night. (When I was younger, in my “sure, let’s hitchhike to Vancouver” stage, this would have been seamless; my ship  needs more ocean to change course as I age.)

We’re booked a hotel.

We got tickets.

The concert, as it turned out, was being held 35 seconds walk from our hotel, and we ate supper across the street, so little was asked of us, at least as far as moving about.

The crowd was pleasantly multi-generational, the venue just a notch bigger than “intimate setting,” but we were in row H, the last one, so it wasn’t a stadium either.

Woods played two sets, one of tracks from his new EP, with stories of his close collaboration with his late songwriting partner Abe Stoklasa, the other filled with his back catalogue.

He is a gifted songwriter and an accomplished guitarist; my only complaint was that the vocals were mushy-sounding, a combination, I think, of his (self-declared) “whispery” style, the PA, the room, and my old ears.

What the sound lacked in clarity, though, Woods more than made up for with emotional punch: his words get to the heart of the matter better than almost anyone.

It was a good night. I’m happy my ship can still turn, even if it needs more room.