The world is upside down for the young man who sings about falling to the sky. Patrick Watson's Close to Paradise rose to No. 4 on the Canadian album charts recently, closing in on the pop-star air of Nelly Furtado, the Shins and Justin Timberlake.
The rise was unforeseen -- think of it in terms of a child's breakaway balloon rather than a sharp, determined bullet. The album (whimsically sophisticated pop) has been out since last September, selling well after its debut at No. 55. Watson's Montreal-based band, which last summer opened for the late James Brown in Europe, has toured steadily since the critically praised record's release.
Watson, who calls the development the "weirdest thing in the world," has a simple explanation for the chart-climbing. "We play music that people respond to," said Watson, speaking from Montreal. "I don't think it's anything more complicated than that."
Some of the sales-spurt can be attributed to the band's appearance on the popular francophone television program Tout le monde en parle, which airs nationally on Radio-Canada. The album rose immediately following the broadcast, resting at No. 18 for one week before continuing up to the fourth slot.
The album is ambitious for textured, ethereal sounds -- a little Pink Floyd here, some cabaret charm there. There's the mischief of the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour to go along with cinematic flair and vocals that are, at turns, fluffy or soaring. All that, and a twinkling girl-group sparkle right out of the Eisenhower era.
"In terms of production, Mr. Sandman was the first song I got turned on to," says Watson, 27, referring to the Chordettes' 1954 hit. "It's that shimmering sound, with a modern flair to it."
The feet of Watson leave the ground on more than one of the album's dreamy songs, and yet the singer-pianist is not getting too carried away with the chart-climbing business. "It's pretty funny to be with Furtado and Timberlake," he says, laughing. "But, you know what, why not?"
Days later, at the sold-out Rivoli in Toronto, a delighted Watson looks over the crowd. "We've actually played here a number of times," he tells the scrunched-in audience, "and now people came."
What they saw may have surprised them: Watson -- a feathery vocalist on disc -- has the dark, scruffy look of a French-Canadian goalie (he is a pickup-game net-minder, but an Anglo one). There's an odd honk to his laugh, too -- a quirky blurt that causes crowd members to giggle when they hear it.
Seated behind a Yamaha keyboard, his eyes are closed as he croons out of a crooked, Sammy Davis-like mouth. "Is it just me," he begins, on the classically styled Giver, "or do you feel a change?"
Watson, who also plays a harmonium and an accordion, uses plenty of reverb on his microphone (though he'll sing without a mike on occasion). He employs a gizmo that makes a swooshing effect, and the band plays with more abandon on stage than on record.
His family is in the audience. At one point, Watson dedicates a song to his father, who, we are told, is a pilot with the darndest concept: that music comes to songwriters from the sky, and that the noise of a big city would interfere with a musician's ability to receive it.
It's an unusual notion, and, it should be noted, one that has never been officially dispelled. After the show, Bruce Watson discusses the idea. "It was a theory that Patrick and I discussed," he says. "Obviously, when you create new music, it has to come from somewhere."
Bruce, a thoughtful, capable-looking man who tested the Canadair Challenger jet across the skies of the Mojave Desert in the early eighties, is quite serious. "Perhaps the great composers were being influenced by something that occurred to them," he continues. "More than likely, it was exterior."
It was the father's responsibility to take the prototype planes to their structural limit -- a perilous job that would have seemed attractive to an impressionable youth. "He quite often compares his career to mine, in taking risks," the dad says. "I think what Patrick is trying to do is to take his music to a space where people haven't been."
Raised in Hudson, Que., a genteel town west of Montreal on the Ottawa River, young Watson was singing in local churches by the age of seven. He studied classical and jazz piano composition and performance, eventually joining a high-energy ska group before concentrating on audio-visual collaborations and the refined musical styles that eventually led to Just Another Ordinary Day in 2003 and then Close to Paradise.
"There's lots of music out there," says Watson, when asked about his songwriting influences. "Classical music is a wealth of chord changes and amazing ideas. I mean, if you're not going back to that, you're missing out. Bands like Radiohead know that."
A Debussy-lover who listened to Gershwin's folk opera Porgy and Bess as a youth, Watson learns from all genres. Listen to The Storm on Close to Paradise and you will hear Johnny Cash dragged across the clouds by sugary choir -- the Chordettes, perhaps. The album's closer, Bright Shiny Lights, is gospel.
Given Watson's reverence for musical predecessors -- "It's a natural part of music to take from older styles" -- five concerts in Europe with James Brown must have been a kick. According to the musician, the gigs were "an amazing experience," but not just for the chance to see the then-living legend perform. "It was a different era that they were still participating in," Watson explained. "They have an amazing respect for the stage. To be put into a time machine, to see how an older touring band would work -- it was fascinating."
As much as anyone could have an actual conversation with Brown, Watson was able to chat with the man a couple of times -- once to thank him for having him on the road. "Don't think I didn't hear ya out there,' " Brown told Watson. "You sounded amazin'."
Watson, who recalls the Godfather of Soul as "really sweet," took note of the man's tireless charisma. "He was an old showbiz dude, you know? So he was quite good at it, making you smile."
That was a few months ago now, but Watson couldn't be faulted for maintaining the grin. A slot at this spring's influential South by Southwest Festival is coming up, and the band was just nominated for a Juno in the top-new-artist category. Watson was nominated (but did not win) a Genie Award for Trace-moi, a song he co-wrote for the film La belle bête.
Although Close to Paradise has recently drifted closer to Earth (No. 30), another ascent is possible. Last week's episode of the soundtrack-savvy Grey's Anatomy included The Great Escape, a solo-piano number off the album. Who knows where that might take the sky-happy Watson.
Brad Wheeler