Sun Kil Moon's crass frontman delivers provocative, unapologetic performance

If Sun Kil Moon makes anything clear on stage, it’s that frontman Mark Kozelek is certainly not singing for love of his fans. Performing at the Somerville Theater on Sept. 19, Sun Kil Moon gave a raw -- and sometimes incendiary -- performance.

Begging the audience for ibuprofen and cigarettes, or else pressing a seltzer bottle to his aching forehead, Kozelek, former leader of '90s alternative rock band Red House Painters, began to apologize for his lethargic stage presence just after his second song.

Anticipating the indie-folk act of Sun Kil Moon, one might expect a quiet, poignant evening. You may be concerned that if you don’t listen close enough to Kozelek’s lulling acoustic guitar, you’ll miss a heart wrenching moment of his painfully honest, eloquent lyrics. Kozelek’s stage presence, believe it or not, was just as raw as his gut-wrenching songs. This emotional edge left listeners concerned that he may explode at any moment, wondering what in his past put the woeful, weathered look in his eyes. Songs like “Carissa” (2014) and “I Know It’s Pathetic But That Was the Greatest Night of My Life” (2012) certainly seem like the art of a hardened soul. But after Kozelek’s scandalous remarks a few weeks ago that band The War on Drugs could "suck his f***ing dick,” this tortured artist's live tour may be closing in on its expiration date.

Kozelek would take what seemed like half an hour to tune his “$4,000 guitar” in between songs, making a joke about how "Jews have all the money," and reassuring audiences -- twice --  that he truly “loves black people.” Next, he let his supposed sense of humor shine through by responding to a male fan’s screams of, “I love you, Mark,” with disappointment, because naturally, he explained, he only appreciates catcalls from women.

After watching Kozelek wander aimlessly, sing to stage corners, avoid eye contact with any member of the audience and telling his band to wait a few minutes before their next track so he could “talk some s**t,” listeners could be pretty sure Kozelek could have cared less that the sea of Somerville hipsters below him may have actually paid a few bucks for their Friday night entertainment. Kozelek’s lack of enthusiasm was encapsulated by one lengthy, painful pause just before his encore, leaving just enough time for him to confer with his band members about just where, exactly, they were performing: "Somer…uhhh...ville?"

Kozelek unapologetically bared his shortcomings for all to see -- as if his life story were tattooed on his forearm, begging you to read it, maybe cry a little and perhaps eventually feel something. That’s just what his songs do as well; they remind you of the way you felt in seventh grade while a first crush sat on your bed, or when you heard the news that your second cousin died on the way to her nursing shift. They remind you of how much you really do love your dad, or how you felt when you saw the news about the tragic events in Newtown, Conn.

His lyrics, his charismatic guitar plucking and his honesty provide each listener with something with which to connect and grapple. Unfortunately, however, Kozelek’s lackluster performance also emphasized the separation between an artist and his art. In order to love a work of art, one does not necessarily have to love the artist. Kozelek’s jarringly emotional, critically acclaimed work should not be tainted by his jaded stage performance; the evening was an unfortunate reflection of his character, yet not of his art.

Despite Kozelek’s overbearing and offensive stage commentary, his musicians remained in constant communication, creating seamless harmonies and providing a beautiful, richer sound to Kozelek’s usually sparse singer/songwriter style. Listening to Kozelek belt “Dogs” brought a new reality to the tale of his adventures in young love, creating a clear picture of a poor, middle school version of Mark, ignored by his first love in the hall in between classes. His performance of “I Can’t Live Without My Mother’s Love,” delivered as he stood sorrowfully on top of a speaker near the front of the stage, became an almost spiritual experience. Kozelek appeared like a kind of fallen hero, begging for redemption, with stage lights shining on both his beauty and his imperfections.

While Kozelek did not leave many yelling for an encore, the evening outlined a paradox often too easy to ignore. In life, there is death; with love, there is loss. Even after his questionable commentary and disappointing stage presence, it's just possible that audience members caught a glimpse of something personal, maybe painful, lurking in Kozelek's shadow.