‘Atlas’ tweaks contrasts

There is something about certain people that makes nearly everything they do raise collective eyebrows.

For these choice persons, even something as trivial as their trip to an antique store earlier in the day can be unexplainably captivating.

Bradford Cox is one of these people.

On the cover of his most recent album, "Logos," Cox is shown naked from the waist up, his head a sphere of piercing white light.

This image, coupled with the radiant arrangements, contrasted well with the songs' often desolate lyrics and frail delivery.

His performance at San Francisco's Great American Music Hall Friday revealed a similar disparity.

Playing under the name of his solo project, Atlas Sound, Cox sat shrouded in darkness with only shy lights outlining his shoulders and ski beanie, leaving the majority of his torso and face hidden throughout most of the show.

Sounds appeared to resonate from a seemingly hopeless abyss, his voice more like an upward call to those on the outer rim.

Yet, the instant the last notes evaporated from the cozy two-story, Old West-themed venue and he began conversing with the audience, the torrent would stop.

His jokes were funny, and his anecdotes about purchasing a novelty bat in a glass case were amusing.

Most surprising, however, is just how well such shifts in atmosphere worked, to the point where the entire night simply felt like a warm experience connecting with a really laid-back and easygoing friend.

The explanation for why the duality in Cox's music is so appealing became apparent by the end of his encore set.

This man is real.

In an indie scene dominated by endless layers of calculated irony that everyone forgot what it means to be straightforward, lines like "we'll die alone, together" tend to hit that much harder.

He's not afraid to have the "same dreams" as his lover or admit that he is "waiting to be changed."

Part of the reason for this sense of unmitigated honesty can be attributed to Cox's confession that he rarely writes down songs for the Atlas Sound project.

He just plays them.

Consequently, they feel as if they radiate directly from his being and thus command much greater power to affect.

The only filters Cox permitted Friday evening were the effects pedals at his feet. They turned the delicate vibrations of his acoustic guitar into warm, bulbous, hypnotic undulations that pushed the cool waves emitting from the smoke machine above him toward the crowd.

Currents collided and everyone was sucked in.

They were then able to see why the carefree-skipping-on-the-sidewalk organ riff and musings on growing up of single "Walkabout" were merely covering up its final refrain: "Forget the things you've left behind/Through looking back you may go blind."

Such versatility rooted in unfailing individuality is what made the performance and the musician so enthralling.

Cox not only finds strength in the process of articulating where he has been, he helps to understand why, regardless of how the past is defined, it's OK to be excited about the future.

Contact Alec Surmani at asurmani.advocate@gmail.com