The Globe and Mail
January 23, 2008
Online Edition

Heartfelt melodies from a superb craftsman
by Brad Wheeler

After I had written a blurb to publicize his show, Toronto singer-songwriter Greg Hobbs contacted me, thanking me for the mention. These kinds of things, he said, small as they were, helped a lot.

And so it goes for an artist who is neither a celebrity nor a hit-maker, only a much better-than-average craftsman. Did I say ‘only'? I shouldn't have.

“I wasn't expecting such an attentive audience,” Hobbs told the small, and yes, focused, huddle in front of him. The room is tight – candlelit and snug with 20 or so people, yet underheated and a wool sweater short of being cozy – but it's never a given that a performer has something worth focusing on, no matter how tiny the room is. And Hobbs, sensitively accompanied on lap steel and electric guitar by Christine Bougie, has an unassuming manner to begin with.

Improbably, though, his meekness is almost commanding – in a “shhhh, I think he's trying to tell us something” way. He introduced the first set's final number ( Twilight) as a “really great song” by Robbie Robertson. It's a cover tune, but it could have been the inspiration for Hobbs's latest album Thunder and Dust, an acoustic collection of lowly lit regrets and disappointments. Songs titles read Candlelight, In the Dark and Let's Turn Out the Light.

A vocalist of no great emotional range, Hobbs sings surely, pleasantly and believably, whether on “twilight being the loneliest of day,” or on his own country-loping In the Dark, where fortune and hope shines. He's comfortable but not talkative at Not My Dog, a bohemian cubby hole in the west end of Toronto. Seemingly a student of the troubadour styles of Bob Dylan, Loudon Wainwright III or Mark Knopfler, the bill-capped and short-bearded Hobb's own material is marked by agreeable melodies, plainspoken lyrics and uncomplicated metaphors (wading into wavy waters, storms rolling in, etc.). He strums his acoustic guitar; other times, he picks.
Whether drawing from his past catalogue or his fresh release, Hobbs offers what he would call sketches from the heart. The catchy Secrets of the Bride, concerning a discreet ex-boyfriend wistfully attending a wedding, and Crowded Room, where time would be turned back, are successful – not as morose as they might be at all.

Nothing is clear as light and day with Hobbs, an artist whose had some minor critical successes over the years, but still holds a day job (as a CBC Television researcher). Between sets, a beer pitcher is passed to collect a cover charge.

He's a twilight guy, Hobbs, tucked in that grey area between victory and defeat. On a given night, he's a fine somebody to see. There's a slight suggestion of something bigger, perhaps, and along with it the possibility of a broken promise. Something Hobbs, I bet, understands.