Matt Costa
Words: Michael Rabinowitz
Photos: Chris Russick

Matt Costa suffers from what is commonly known as pretty white girls (P.W.G.) syndrome.  Although not documented (yet!) in modern medical journals, it is the malady that all solo singer/songwriters suffer upon entering the mainstream.  The symptoms are: having your album on constant shuffle in VW Jettas across this great nation, being envisioned as an emotional intellect without an audience who comprehends the origins of your lyrics, and enjoying widespread female adulation but fear of accepting said adulation as dictated by modern statutory rape legislation.

What is the secret to mainstream success for pop musicians?  Similar to DaVinci, an artist often hides codes of deeper meaning within his art while the surface of his works appeases his patrons.  In other words, he must know who butters his bread and still find a way to express creative independence.  In Costa’s case, it is legions of female fans - from pre-teen to sorority age.   And during this all-ages show (The Orpheum, 5/23) a strong contingent of teenage P.W.G’s enclosed the stage in wife beaters, cuffed jeans, and Chuck Taylors, smacking their gum and smoking (yet, not quite inhaling) copious amounts of cigarettes.

Perhaps it’s being attached to Jack Johnson’s label (P.W.G.’s No. 1 target right now) that is the source of Costa’s infirmity.  Or it could be his teenage crush slacker look: tall, lanky, with a beard and wool cap a la Michael Nesmith from The Monkees.  Either way, Costa deftly caters to both his core P.W.G. audience and those fans that enjoy his Neil Young hard-rock tendencies.  This was apparent in the first half set dedicated to P.W.G.’s, sprinkled with light poppy Costa fare such as “Cold December” and the appropriately titled “Sunshine.”  It’s this hippie rock, with Costa and his guitar center stage, where he skates along the sweet surface of commercial radio play and festival circuits.  Its also known as jam band music but without the lengthy jams; all tightly orchestrated pieces, short enough to fit into tight three minute and 48 second intervals.

After this first set of P.W.G. songs — and a few number of Heinekens — Costa began to turn his Tiger Beat image on its head.  First, tearing into “Behind the Moon,” a rockabilly number that shares the same guitar hook with the theme from T.V.’s “Rawhide.”  He followed this with the hard-edged country based “Ballad of Miss Kate”, but with his bandmates fuzzying up the chords for a sound much more sinister than found on his album, Songs We Sing.  Costa even included a rousing cover of Buddy Holly’s “Well ... All Right” that would’ve knocked the glasses off of pop music’s first teenage nerd heartthrob. 

Still Costa could not shake his diagnosis of P.W.G. syndrome, blushing at one point after a shout out from a devoted P.W.G.  “Matt Costa, take your fucking clothes off!” the sweaty aficionada shouted.  “You first.” was all Costa could sheepishly muster as a response.  

After ignoring most of the P.W.G.’s in this second half, Costa offered the stage to them during “Oh Dear,” a rowdy denouement which included opening act Greg Laswell and even the sound engineer. (Even Reax photog, Chris Russick, was invited to join in the rambunctiousness.) The group crowded the tiny stage singing along in “Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da” fashion as drinks spilled on amp chords and P.W.G.’s swayed to and fro while trying to mouth the words in a giant drunken revelry.  (Think “Rainy Day Women 12 & 35” but in halter tops.) 

I was fortunate enough to be invited backstage (a tiny gutted-out electrical closet) after the show.  With two other P.W.G’s in tow, Costa regaled us with an acoustic version of “Ballad of Miss Kate” on guitar — and a Heineken bottle as a slide. He talked about inspiration for his songwriting, how reading John Steinbeck’s short stories are helping him think about his new album.  Then, after hearing the tiny space go silent and witnessing the blank stares on the P.W.G.’s as they pondered who the hell Steinbeck is, Costa released a wry smile.  Perhaps, he was thinking to himself, “I might have finally found a cure for P.W.G. syndrome.”