It feels almost criminal to publish something about this set without asking. Maybe this review should be just as intimate as the set itself. Maybe you’re reading this in Tyler’s personal archive after he passes away after a very successful career as a heartthrob songwriter.
A stagnant disco ball was the only light, sprawling glittering dots around the back room of Sleepwalk. In the center of the dark room, Tyler’s piano was a shrine around which a crowd of mostly friends gathered. Some sat on the floor of the stage, others crowded into booths, and some stood along the back of the piano. Sleepwalk could have been a studio or an apartment. Tonight, we’re all Tyler’s friends.
The contents of Tyler’s Shrine:
- A tape recorder
- A ham radio
- At least four candles, including one in the shape of a tiny curled up cat
- A trophy featuring a triumphant businessman with pink bracelets curled around it
- A glass of water
- A drink
- A flask
“I don’t have a problem, I have an aesthetic,” Tyler took a sip from the flask as his friends laughed along. According to Tyler, this set is a reflection of transitions—tracing the path of a breakup, from the pits of self-medicating despair into a new, more hopeful day. Soulful and heartfelt solo pieces complemented the Ok, Tyler classics I’ve heard before– songs like “Jenny u were my first.”
This was a unique show for Ok, Tyler as Tyler performed most of his older work solo, accompanying himself on the piano. Bassist Luke McCrosson, guitarist Daniel Lerner, pianist Ian Miller, and percussionist Alex Alfaro, blended into the crowd, occasionally pulling forward into the spotlight as Tyler asked for support. Without knowing better, I would have thought each of these talented musicians were just his biggest fans, nodding and foot tapping along.
My attendance let me in on a discography filled with inside jokes between a vulnerable artist and their closest friends, finishing each others’ sentences. Tyler introduced an older song, “Life’s gotten so much better since…” he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink. “Since what?” someone leaning on the piano challenged, and Tyler gave a knowing smile as half the room broke out into teasing whoops.
I can’t tell you exactly “since what”, I can’t tell you much about Tyler’s life at all. It’s only occurring to me as I write this that I don’t even know his last name. But after this set, I still felt like I know Tyler; an impactful and authentic storyteller who lays it all bare every time he plays, balanced by a band having the greatest time playing. It’s a challenge to deliver vulnerable emotional beats without the creeping dread or depression after the night is over, and it’s a triumph to turn the most complex and painful parts of your life into a song wherein you can smile after you sing. Sitting on the piano is a first place trophy for the man who stands before it, arms raised in the air, triumphant in pain, laughter, and everything in between.
