Tiny Desk Concerts - Video

This might be as intimate as hearing Katie Crutchfield sing in her basement. That's where she and her sister would play guitar, write and sing songs 10 years ago, when she was 14. Katie and Allison Crutchfield had a band back in Birmingham together, The Ackleys; these days, Katie performs as Waxahatchee, while Allison's band is called Swearin'. The songs Waxahatchee brought to the NPR Music offices aren't just stripped down for this Tiny Desk Concert, this is Katie Crutchfield as Waxahatchee, spare and exposed; this is what she does. Sometimes there's a drummer (her sister's boyfriend Kyle Gilbride) and at other times another guitarist, her boyfriend Keith Spencer (both play in Swearin'), but even on Waxahatchee's second album, Cerulean Salt, there are plenty of bare-boned songs. This is intimate music for an intimate setting, as we got to stand in careful silence, listening intently and capturing this frail and powerful performance.

At 34, John Legend has sold millions of records, won nine Grammys, collaborated with many of the biggest stars in music (Jay-Z, Kanye West, Alicia Keys, The Roots, et al), and achieved the kind of statesmanlike musical-ambassador status usually afforded to artists twice his age. He is, in short, the sort of star who doesn't usually perform behind desks in offices. But once we'd wedged a piano back there, Legend sounded perfectly at home. His rich, soulful voice never suffered for a lack of processing and production as he performed three songs for NPR Music and a few hundred of our rapt coworkers, loved ones and hangers-on. Though he recently released a fine new album titled Love in the Future, from which "Made to Love" and "All of Me" were drawn for this set, Legend took special care to provide the backstory for "Move," which he'd recorded for the soundtrack to 12 Years a Slave. Legend executive-produced that soundtrack himself — don't be surprised if you wind up hearing him perform "Move" again on Oscar night — and recorded the album version with U.K. musician Fink. Here, though, it's stripped down considerably, with just Legend's piano and the acoustic guitar of guest Bobby Anderson providing accompaniment. Legend doesn't play settings this intimate very often, and it's not as if he has anything to prove at this point in his career. But, just in case he did, he retains a busker's lung capacity, the charisma of a born star and the easygoing grace of a performer fit for any stage — even a tiny one.

You've probably never seen or heard an instrument like this. The Hindustani slide guitar is the creation of Debashish Bhattacharya, whose creation pairs his first love — a Hawaiian lap steel guitar, a gift from his father when he was only 3 — and the sounds of India. You can see the similarities to a lap steel guitar, as Bhattacharya lays the guitar across his legs, sliding a metal bar to create the fluid, almost vocal melodies. The additional strings (and lack of frets) allow him to slide easily between notes, in the process creating a sound that resonates and drones while remaining attuned to his Calcutta home. His music incorporates a good deal of North Indian (Hindustani) classical music, but you can also hear the blues pouring out from this stunning creation. I first met Bhattacharya 17 years ago when he was touring with other great slide guitarists, Bob Brozman and Martin Simpson. In those 17 years, his music has become even more astonishing, and his instrument refined even further. This trio includes his daughter (Anandi Bhattacharya) on vocals and his brother (Subhasis Bhattacharjee) on tabla. The current album and some of what's played here today can be found on two different records, the first with guitarist John McLaughlin and Dobro master Jerry Douglas (titled Beyond the Ragasphere) and the second with his brother and daughter (titled Madeira: If Music Could Intoxicate). These are brilliant recordings — and a good place to start exploring more from this unique artist after his intoxicating Tiny Desk Concert is done causing your jaw to drop.

In 1963, the jazz pianist George Shearing, an enormously popular act in his day, made an album that was unusual for him. He asked his new, 20-year-old vibraphone player to write an album of contrapuntal, classical-music-inspired compositions, and recorded them with a woodwind quintet atop a jazz rhythm section. It's out of print now, but Out of the Woods received good reviews, and it remains an early career highlight for its young architect, Gary Burton. Gary Burton is 70 now, and that's just two pages' worth of his new autobiography Learning to Listen. Here's a guy who played withStan Getz and Chick Corea, was an early adopter of jazz fusion, and became the Dean of Berklee College of Music. But when he stopped by the Tiny Desk, he saluted that moment by calling an unrelated tune called "Out of the Woods." For his next number, Burton called "Remembering Tano," a piece he wrote for another man with whom he's worked briefly but meaningfully: new-tango pioneer Astor Piazzolla. Burton has a long history of hiring great guitarists, and his current band is no exception. Julian Lage is just 25, but his own bandalready played the Tiny Desk once; his jabs and lean threading brighten this session. Their dialogue accentuates another thing about Burton: He may be past retirement age, but he can still dazzle. He concocted an impromptu blues for his final number, and sent his signature four-mallet grip slaloming up and down the instrument.

In the last few years, Ashley Monroe has cobbled together an impressive country-music pedigree by working alongside both upstarts (Pistol Annies with Miranda Lambert and Angaleena Presley) and longtime Nashville veterans (Vince Gill produced Monroe's solo album Like a Rose), and even collaborating with Jack White every now and then. Monroe belongs to a remarkable wave of gifted young country-singing women who've surfaced with great records in 2013 — a list that also includes Kacey Musgraves, Holly Williams, Brandy Clark and others — while tapping into the relatable searches and struggles of everyday people. This three-song set at the Tiny Desk, performed with the aid of guitarist John Shaw, captures a nice cross-section of Monroe's appeal: The title track from Like a Rose tells an optimistic story of survival, the ambivalent ballad "You Got Me" chronicles ill-advised romantic obsession, and, of course, the Top 40 country hit "Weed Instead of Roses" functions as a playful, fun-loving mission statement. Speaking of "Weed Instead of Roses," which closes this charming performance, Monroe says the straitlaced Vince Gill insisted upon the song's inclusion on Like a Rose — even going so far as to declare it a condition of his producing the album. The guy knew what he was talking about, both in his support of the song and of Monroe herself.

Watch a special Halloween Tiny Desk Concert in which a gorilla-suit-clad Neko Case performs alongside Kelly Hogan, as well as Eric Bachmann of Crooked Fingers and Archers of Loaf.

San Fermin's music bursts with ambition, talent and extreme joy. Its self-titled debut is charged with great storytelling and amazing vocals by both Allen Tate and Lucius singers Holly Laessig and Jess Wolfe. Then there are the arrangements: little gems that turn these the songs into cinematic vignettes using trumpet, sax, keyboard, violin, guitar and drums. San Fermin is the musical vision of Ellis Ludwig-Leone, who wrote these songs with Tate's dark, rich voice in mind. Here at the Tiny Desk, Rae Cassidy makes the album's female vocal parts her own; in fact, the entire band keeps growing into these little song-worlds. I've seen San Fermin three times this year, and the songs keep gathering more power, intrigue and fire. The album provides a jumping-off point for a 2014 that promises to be huge for San Fermin.

The appropriately named Typhoon is a sprawling band with an epic sound. The group from Portland, Ore. crafts rock anthems like emotional tidal waves, propelled by the stories of frontman Kyle Morton. His deeply personal tales are often full of grief and loss. But just as often they celebrate and praise life's simple wonders. Morton himself is a very grateful (and lucky) man who writes songs as if he were living on borrowed time. That's because a random bug bite when he was a child left him with a monstrous case of Lyme disease that led to multiple organ failures. Morton's own father donated a kidney to save his son's life. At 27, with a backing band of a dozen musicians, Morton and the rest of Typhoon are making some of the most poignant pop tunes around. We've been following this group for a few years now, but Typhoon has never done anything quite like what you can hear on its latest album, White Lighter. The songs are by far the best arranged and most compelling of the group's nearly 10-year run. Somehow everyone in Typhoon not only managed to fit behind the Tiny Desk, but also managed to shine in this performance. If you're looking for music that touches your heart, that helps you appreciate the everyday, sit back and get ready for Typhoon to carry you away.

Daughter first popped up on our radar when we heard the London band's song "Landfill" while preparing for SXSW early last year: Achingly pretty and melancholy, the track builds to an absolute gut-punch of a line — "I want you so much, but I hate your guts" — that conjures a pitch-perfect mix of gloom, desire and hostility. The group has since released a full-length album, this year's lovelyIf You Leave, but Daughter was kind enough to resuscitate "Landfill" for this stripped-down performance at the Tiny Desk. As you'll see and hear, that aforementioned gut-punch is a recurring specialty for the band: In all three of these sad, searing songs, singer Elena Tonra showcases a remarkable gift for coolly but approachably dishing out weary words that resonate and devastate.

The next time you go to see live jazz in a club, and the band is playing original compositions, look closely in front of the musicians. Sometimes there'll be stands holding sheet music. There's nothing wrong with this per se, especially if the music is a bit complicated. But sometimes there'll be no need for stands, as the musicians have memorized the material. It's impressive, but it also signals a certain commitment, one borne of having rehearsed and performed together often. You frequently see this in tight bands that know what they're doing. The Chicago bassist Matt Ulery writes beautiful music in an unpretentious way. It's intricate stuff, with interlocking parts and segmented structures. It often borrows from Eastern European scales, orchestral tone colors, folky textures. (On his backpack, he sports a SXSW patch from when he toured with a rock band called In Tall Buildings.) But it doesn't sound like calculus class, as in some other ambitious works of modern jazz. It never seems to stray too far away from pretty melody over undulating rhythms, and that deceptive simplicity sets it apart. Last year Ulery put out a grand two-disc set of music you might call "chamber jazz." By A Little Light had strings, orchestral horns and singers — the whole nine yards. But he has also long done lavish on a smaller scale with a band called Loom. A rejiggered quintet lineup (note: bass clarinet, accordion) produced this year's Wake An Echo, which the band brought to our office during a brief summer tour. Listen for yourself and decide whether you think the music is as rich as this description makes it out to be. But at least note how the band was playing without sheet music — having committed to getting this overlapping, precise stuff down pat.

At first blush, Okkervil River is obviously a good rock 'n' roll band, but listen closely — especially to its lyrics — and you'll hear a great rock 'n' roll band. The group has been making sharp, thoughtful music since the late '90s, with the first of its seven albums coming out a dozen years ago. The songs in this Tiny Desk Concert are from The Silver Gymnasium, a record inspired by the childhood of 37-year-old singer-songwriter Will Sheff; he grew up a bespectacled, crooked-toothed redhead in the small New Hampshire town of Meriden. His lyrics are drenched in specific memories, pop-culture references and youthful insecurity. Look at these lines from "Down Down the Deep River": Tell me 'bout the greatest show or the greatest movie you know Or the greatest song that you taped from off the radio Play it again and again — it cuts off at the ending, though Tell me I'm always gonna be your best friend Now you said it one time — why don't you say it again? The stories pop a bit more in this acoustic set-up for Okkervil River, but they rock plenty hard in concert and on their albums. If you've missed the past dozen years of this band, start here and then work your way back through its catalog. The Stage Names is my favorite, but nothing disappoints.

Short of seeing her live and in person, this is the best way to encounter Valerie June's heartfelt sound. Her new album Pushin' Against a Stone is terrific, but when I first heard that voice unadorned, I was hooked. The same may happen to you. Valerie June is a singular performer with an array of singing styles. Sometimes she's channeling an old male voice; at other times, she channels a younger woman or even a child. Her music is steeped in tradition. The striking Tennessee singer — on its own, her hair could pass for sculpture — can sing the blues or gospel or country or a blend that sounds like nothing else. She learned how to sing during 18 years of church, but the "old man's voice" comes from deep inside in unexpected ways. Prepare to be surprised, and to become Valerie June's newest fan.

It's remarkable to think that Superchunk's career has spanned four decades. The North Carolina band got its start in 1989, and here it is in 2013, with a new record called I Hate Music that demonstrates an undying passion for punk-fueled story songs with catchy phrasing. The band recorded its 10th album with a lineup that has held for most of its history: Mac McCaughan on guitar and vocals, Laura Ballance on bass, Jim Wilbur on guitar and Jon Wurster on drums. At the Tiny Desk and on tour, it's a shame not to have Ballance in the fold — her hearing problem worsens on tour and in loud venues — though Jason Narducy fills in admirably here. This set in the NPR Music offices includes songs from I Hate Music and 2010's Majesty Shredding, but the group also digs deep to perform a song from 1995's Here's Where the Strings Come In. All in all, it's a joy to have Superchunk translate its electric sound to acoustic instruments in such an intimate way.

These days, Lawrence Brownlee spends most of his time on the stages of the world's great opera houses. That's where you'll find him singing Rossini and Donizetti. His supple, strong, high-flying voice can negotiate the tightest hairpin turns with grace and elegance; that, and his ability to command the stage as an actor, has won Brownlee the praise of critics worldwide. But as much as he excels at opera, there's a special place in Brownlee's heart for African-American spirituals. Growing up in Youngstown, Ohio, Brownlee sang gospel music in church, and now he's returning to that tradition by releasing a new album, Spiritual Sketches — and singing selections from it here in the NPR Music offices. Brownlee bases much of his operatic success on his sturdy church-music grounding. "I would say that the flexibility I have with my voice is in large part because I sang gospel in church," Brownlee told NPR in 2007. "It's a lot of improvisational singing with a lot of riffs or runs." The spirituals might be well-known, but through Brownlee's voice, they shine in new, occasionally jazz-inflected arrangements by Damien Sneed. "There Is a Balm in Gilead" floats in a newly contemplative mood with the addition of a few blue notes and chromatic touches, while the spunky piano line Justina Lee plays in "Come By Here" seems inspired by great stride players like James P. Johnson. But the heart and soul of this concert is "All Night, All Day," a performance that swells with a potent combination of tenderness and operatic horsepower. The song speaks of a protective band of angels — angels that Brownlee told the audience are watching over his 3-year-old son Caleb, who's just been diagnosed with an autism-spectrum disorder. "It's called 'All Night, All Day,' but I've renamed it 'Caleb's Song,'" Brownlee says. The soulful vocalisms with which Brownlee closes the song are gorgeous and tinged with anguish. Afterward, I heard one NPR staffer say it was the first time she'd ever wept at a Tiny Desk Concert.

He seemed so casual — sitting on a bar stool behind the Tiny Desk, acoustic guitar in hand — but when you hear that husky voice, you'll know why he's a legend. Oliver Mtukudzi, or "Tuku" as his fans lovingly call him, plays spirited music, born from the soul of Zimbabwe. He's been recording since the late 1970s, with about as many albums as his age: 60. But Mtukudzi's new record reveals a heavier heart than before:Sarawoga is his first recording since the loss of his son Sam. He and Sam — also a guitar player, as well as a saxophonist — had a special relationship touring together. But in March 2010, Sam Mtukudzi was killed in a car crash at the age of 21. Oliver Mtukudzi recently told NPR's Tell Me More that "the only way to console myself is to carry on doing what we loved doing most. Sitting down [to] cry and mourn — I think it would have killed me." So here is the legend himself, with much to share in the odd intimacy of an office desk. A special moment.