The first time I heard about Nat Osborn was when my friend Matt was designing a kick ass show poster for his show and we delivered it to a bearded man standing behind the bar where he and Matt both work. There is something magical about friendships born out of a mutual understanding of the perils of restaurant life. It is a subculture, a club where grounds for membership are fleshed out during post-shift drinks on invisible tabs and following-day hangovers nursed while sporting the best face one can wear inside a restricting tie and belt. The most magical of all is that these individuals, the ones who pour you your third glass, who promptly deliver the check- they are all secret dreamers, with fantastic lives outside the realm of what they do. Their paychecks do not confine them, because their work is simply a catalyst for their love. Should you evesdrop on their exchange, they will speak with great authority over the arts: they are the writers, the music makers, the actors, the artists. 

Without hearing much except the praise of my friend Matt, we went to his show at the Rockwood somewhere in the Lower East Side- a modest space fitting no more than one hundred uncomfortably. I joked with Matt about the small space given for such an enormous sound, tightly fitting an upright bass, guitar, piano, two violins, drums and a second vocalist under the moniker of the ‘free radicals’. Imagine that Arcade Fire Takeaway show, and add a few more bodies in the elevator. Nat Osborn is entirely unassuming. Beneath a warm and hearty beard is a soulful voice, and a masterful musician should you place any instrument of your desire in front of him. He plays the piano with ease, and the guitar with intensity, the harmonica, and perhaps even the trombone should you give him a few hours to find out the notes. His unique breed of jazz and folk fit the acoustics in the room perfectly, offering up a new sort of storytelling sensibility with the clarity of vocals that almost have that R&B vibe were you not staring at the impressive coarse hair that crowned this mouth. His music is absolutely magnificent, so please check it out. And let this serve as a reminder never to bite the hand that feeds (our pours) because those hands are the steady rhythm that can speak to your soul.

Nat Osborn- Little to the Left

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Nat Osborn- Whitewash Walls

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