Concert Review: Hiss Golden Messenger (Cat's Cradle)

BY DREW DRAIN

My first real experience with Bad Debt was in 2016. The power had been out for hours, maybe longer—it was hard to tell in the enveloping darkness of a house stripped of its usual hums and flickers. Outside, Hurricane Matthew roared, its winds rattling the windows and pelting rain against the walls with unrelenting force. Inside, there was an eerie stillness, the kind that only arrives when electricity—so often taken for granted—is nowhere to be found. With nothing but a candle and a battery-powered Bluetooth speaker, I queued up Bad Debt by Hiss Golden Messenger, its unvarnished intimacy feeling like the only appropriate soundtrack for this strange, suspended moment.

The raw, lo-fi strums of M.C. Taylor’s acoustic guitar seeped into the stillness, his voice a fragile, searching thing that seemed to carry the weight of both the storm outside and the quiet unease within. Bad Debt sounded like it was made in conditions not unlike my own—dim, solitary, surrounded by forces beyond one’s control. Songs like “Balthazar’s Song” and “Jesus Shot Me in the Head” felt like quiet meditations, their gospel-infused melancholy cutting through the anxiety of the storm. The music made the dark house feel less lonely, as though Taylor’s confessions and questions were written for nights just like this. It wasn’t just an album that night; it was a lifeline, a reminder of how connection and solace can be found even in the most uncertain of moments. When I saw the announcement for Hiss Golden Messenger touring this album, I knew I had to make it to a show.

Lou Hazel’s opening set, ahead of Hiss Golden Messenger, felt like a warm conversation with an old friend who’s got plenty of stories to tell. His music, a compelling blend of heartache and humor, sits somewhere between Ian Noe’s gritty storytelling and John Prine’s wry, observational wit. With a voice that carries the weight of experience and lyrics that balance melancholy with a knowing grin, Hazel had the audience hooked from the first chord. But it wasn't just the songs that won people over—his stage banter was effortlessly charming, filled with self-deprecating humor and off-the-cuff anecdotes that had the crowd laughing between the soul-searching tunes. Whether reflecting on life’s missteps or spinning tall tales, Hazel’s performance felt honest, engaging, and a perfect prelude to the night’s headliner.

Hiss Golden Messenger’s performance, a rare Cat’s Cradle seated show, featuring Bad Debt felt less like a concert and more like an intimate gathering among friends. The venue, typically buzzing with energy, was subdued that night—dimly lit and hushed, as if the audience instinctively understood that these songs demanded their full attention. M.C. Taylor took the stage with his acoustic guitar, his raw weathered voice, and Rich Hinman on pedal steel (occasionally electric guitar) as the only tools needed to bring the album’s sparse yet powerful songs to life. From the opening chords of “Balthazar’s Song,” it was clear that this wasn’t just a run-through of an old record; it was a revisiting, a reckoning with ghosts both personal and universal.

Taylor’s voice, delicate yet resolute, carried the weight of the album’s themes—faith, doubt, fatherhood, and the constant push-and-pull of hope and despair. Songs like “No Lord Is Free” landed with an even greater emotional heft in the live setting, the rawness of the original recordings amplified by the stillness of the room. The stripped-down arrangements left nowhere to hide, allowing the lyrics to take center stage, their quiet urgency filling the space between each note. The audience sat in rapt silence, hanging onto every word, the occasional nods and murmurs of recognition affirming the personal connection so many have with these songs.

Between songs, Taylor offered glimpses into the record’s creation—nights spent writing in the kitchen while his newborn son slept, the struggles with existential malaise that shaped the music, and the unexpected journey creating the album, which included a stay at the Burgaw Motel in Pender County, NC. His storytelling was earnest and reflective, adding an extra layer of poignancy to the performance. Despite the heavy subject matter, there were moments of levity too—Taylor’s dry humor occasionally cutting through the somber tone, reminding everyone that even in the depths of uncertainty, there’s still room for grace and laughter.

By the time the closing chords of “Drum” faded into the night, there was a shared sense of catharsis in the room. The performance was a reminder of the power of music to comfort, challenge, and connect—even in the face of life’s inevitable storms. In revisiting Bad Debt, Taylor not only honored its humble beginnings but also reaffirmed its enduring relevance. Leaving the venue, it was hard not to feel that same sense of solace I’d found years ago, listening in the dark during a storm—proof that some records, and some nights, stay with you forever.

Hiss Golden Messenger Setlist
1. "Shiloh Town (Tim Hardin cover)"
2. "Balthazar’s Song"
3. "No Lord is Free"
4. "Bad Debt"
5. "O Little Light"
6. "Straw Man Red Sun River Gold"
7. "Far Bright Star"
8. "The Serpent is Kind (Compared to Man)"
9. "Call Him Daylight"
10. "Super Blue (Two Days Clean)"
11. "Jesus Shot Me in the Head"
12. "Father Sky"
13. "Roll River Roll"
14. "Drum"
15. "Glory Strums (Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner)"
16. "Sanctuary"

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DREW DRAIN

Andrew (Drew) Drain is originally from Point Pleasant, WV, and he now resides in Chapel Hill, NC with his daughter. Drew works as a financial risk management professional to pay the bills, but his real passion is photography. He started taking photos of his daughter playing soccer as a way to resist the urge to coach her from the sidelines. Time behind the camera developed into a love for photography that he has paired with his love for sports and live music. Follow Drew’s Instagram, @Drew.Drain.Photo or his MaxPreps galleries, to check out more of his work or contact him if you need photos of your favorite athlete or performer.

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