Scan any Field Medic album and you will find a handful of component parts: longing, regret, self-deprecation, guitar, and low fidelity drum loops. Kevin Sullivan has been releasing records as Field Medic for a decade now, with six full-length albums and a dozen or so EPs to his name. I first heard Sullivan’s music this past summer when his Yellow House live performance popped up in my YouTube recommendations and I, deep into summertime boredom, clicked on it curiously. That session introduced me to what seemed like a straight-forward folk singer with a pension for finger-picked guitar and confessional songwriting. But on record, Field Medic is harder to pin down. As his career progressed, his fascination with digital production expanded. His music could easily be compared to classic folk storytellers—Bob Dylan, Neil Young—as it can to the emerging group of digicore artists—Jane Remover, glaive—who trade in tight beat patterns and over-processed vocals.
Field Medic’s latest album, September’s light is gone 2, leans heaviest into the latter influences. Filled to the brim with 808s and tinny synths, with Sullivan teetering on rap on a few tracks, light is gone 2 is a testament to the versatility of Sullivan’s songwriting. However successful Field Medic’s experiments may be, I questioned how this sound would translate to a live show. I was answered both simply and powerfully when The Triton was given the opportunity to attend Field Medic’s show at The Quartyard on October 13.
But before we get to Field Medic’s set, the opener: Cheekface are an LA rock outfit who I was mostly unfamiliar with prior to their performance. They took the stage early, around 6:30 p.m., but played a rowdy, off-kilter set of tongue-in-cheek dork-dad rock—think David Byrne’s deadpan radio announcer voice on “Once in a Lifetime” as a whole band. Frontman Greg Katz’s speak-singing might prove divisive for some. Same goes for the nerdy, meme-heavy lyrics, but the band’s energy was undeniable. Jumping around, smiling broadly, Cheekface’s sincerity and commitment to the bit keeps their music afloat.
And, honestly, it is a pretty incredible feat. By the time Cheekface played a song called “I Feel So Weird!” that starts with a meme from yesteryear, “I’m at the Jamba Juice/I’m at the therapist/I’m at the combination Jamba Juice and therapist” I was somehow sold. Cheekface are a band unconcerned with being utterly contemporary. Cringing as they interpolate the “Cha Cha Slide”? Joke’s on you. You’re missing the fun. The Quartyard crowd was mostly into it, taking it back (now y’all) and one-hopping when commanded, with only mild hesitation. While somewhat divisive, those that get it got it, with many mouthing the words to the songs and singing along whenever Katz asked.
Cheekface’s set came to a close after about an hour. The sun had squarely set and more people started gathering towards the front of the stage as it was being set up for Field Medic. My question about translating the sound of light is gone 2 was swiftly answered by a traditional setup—acoustic guitar, bass, and drums.
I was initially disappointed by this setup, especially for an artist who has historically been creative with his sonic accompaniment—often, Sullivan plays beside a boom box which plays backing tracks and drums. But I would end up pleasantly surprised hearing these songs simultaneously stripped-back and expanded; although stripped of electronic experimentation, Sullivan has never sounded so hifi and slick.
After a lengthy intermission, Kevin Sullivan, followed by two others, took the stage with a quick wave. Sullivan jogged to the front looking beautifully scraggly, clad in a sleeveless denim top, hair pig-tailed and tucked under a thrifted trucker hat. While queerness stays mostly subtextual in Field Medic’s music, Sullivan has long flirted with queer presentation and androgyny and the predominantly Gen-Z audience reflected this; Field Medic is a mulleted event.
Often interested in re-recording and conversing with old material, Field Medic played a surprisingly career-spanning set, even if it leaned towards newer material from light is gone 2 and 2022’s grow your hair long if you’re wanting to see something that you can change. Once again, Sullivan’s songwriting proved its versatility. Songs like the trap-influenced “TSION” translated perfectly. Lines like “I had to wear long pants all summer/’cause I got a tattoo that looked like something it wasn’t” are equally funny, relatable, and mildly concerning over finger-picked guitar as they are over an 808 drum machine. The relative simplicity of the original production helps. The synths were swapped for guitar and the handclap-heavy drum loop with an overdialed kick was translated into its acoustic counterparts for a surprisingly faithful performance.
Perhaps the most impressive part of the show was Sullivan’s voice. Reedy and wistful—like split-grain, the approach of autumn—it slid gracefully over each song. It pairs especially well with Sullivan’s impressive finger-picking on tracks like the recently viral “FULL GROWN” or the plucky “uuu.” More impressive was how impactful Sullivan sounded on songs that feature heavy vocal processing on record. The emo bluntness of “everything’s been going so well” gained a hopeful-bent when played in the open air. On light is gone 2, the title of the song serves as an ironic refrain at the end, but Field Medic played it live with such passion that it started to feel sincere, even if it lost some of its ragtag charm.
The crowd, most on their feet and many quietly singing along, fed off this energy. Sullivan’s banter in-between songs was conversational, a little self-conscious. Early on he explained light is gone 2’s experiments saying, “folk music doesn’t bang hard enough.” He later compared his saccharine song “i think about you all the time” to Mumford & Sons. “If we keep this energy alive we can be in Walgreens across the globe!” Sullivan yelled, beaming.
Quartyard was an especially apt venue for Field Medic, allowing the audience to stand just a half dozen feet away from the performers. There is also something fitting about the venue’s Portland-core wall murals and faux-rustic tin roofs that complement Field Medic’s thrifty, Los Angeles-alt presentation. It felt laid back, low-stakes, and intimate.
More than anything, the night felt careful and understanding. Late into the set, Sullivan continually failed to tune his guitar, quickly running out of banter and filler words. What might have been an awkward, if understandable, silence turned out to be one of the night’s most memorable moments. Sullivan started to sing a slow affirmation, a reminder to give grace and slow down. The audience joined him in hushed acapella. “It’ll be worth it,” Sullivan promised, still fumbling with the guitar. Finally finding the tuning, he launched quickly into the perfect ode to messy desire, “i want you so bad it hurts.” “Wish we could break up on the beach/Then drive back to my house/And hook up on my bed,” he sings so sincerely it’s almost embarrassing. Yeah, it was.
Finnegan Bly is the Assistant Arts and Culture Editor for The Triton.