John Moreland, Ken Pomeroy & Justin Bloss
Saint Cecilia's Listening Room
February 23, 2024
One of my favorite shows in the last decade took place at Old Church Center, a chapel venue that was originally a Methodist-Episcopal church in Perkins, Oklahoma. Jared Tyler and Monica Taylor joined Sam Baker on the tiny stage for a magical night: there was a potluck, the acoustics were incredible, and the space was intimate. And, most importantly, the crowd was reverent, enraptured. They were there for the music—for the camaraderie too, but it was a silent fellowship. I remember feeling something in me break open. I’d found a church for me.
Until last weekend, I hadn’t experienced anything quite like this in Tulsa, though some shows at the Woody Guthrie Center Theater and LowDown have come close. Cue Saint Cecilia’s, The Heights’ new listening room housed in The Parish Church of St. Jerome, which is still an operational Catholic church.
The trio responsible for this addition is Carl Carbonell (marketing) and Mike and Taylor Williams (booking), who’ve rented out a 200-capacity room in the church with a goal of participating in Tulsa’s great musical tradition, their website says, “by offering a corner for the quieter, softer expressions of song and performance. A place to hear.” Their tagline: “Hear, here.” As Carbonell, a fairly recent transplant from Salt Lake City, put it in an Instagram post announcing the new venue, “for the shows where word and melody steer the ship, our harbor will remain calm.”
Opening night proved Carbonell right. The listening room kicked off its tenure with a stellar lineup of Oklahoma songwriters: Justin Bloss (Tulsa), Ken Pomeroy (Moore), and John Moreland (not that an intro is necessary: Tulsa). Night one, from the outside, seemed to get going without a snag. The music started right at 8:00, and immediately the crowd, including last-minute standing-room ticketholders, was entranced.
Behind the talent hung a bright yellow curtain, the center adorned with a painting of, I presume, Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music and musicians. The writers in the round were illuminated by a simple set of string lights and a quirky quartet of clamp lights, a subtle detail that reminded me of the auto garage/farm decor at Tractor Tavern, where I had the pleasure of seeing Moreland in Seattle a couple of years ago. (For the record, I much prefer seeing him at home, especially now that we have a dedicated listening space for folk music.)
Stage left, surrounded by displays of tea lights, a small wooden piano propped up cartoony portraits of the Williams couple and Carbonell like another altar, secondary to Saint Cecilia’s on the stage. Signs on the walls and merch table urge listeners to simply “Be considerate of others. Be quiet during songs. Be present & enjoy.” These rules are posted for good measure, but between the altars, the candles, and the lack of a loud bar area (you can buy drink tickets for beer and wine—two max per person), I think the venue lends itself to this dutiful behavior anyway.
This first show was set up as a fundraiser to boost this project. The team at Saint Cecilia’s knew what they were doing booking a lineup of powerhouses for the inaugural evening; the show sold out ahead of time, and the room was packed full of eager listeners. Even though the space is a decent size, it feels cozy and intimate, and there doesn’t seem to be a bad seat in the house. The sound was solid, mixed so the often heartbreaking lyrics sailed just atop the music without overpowering even the most delicate fingerpicking.
I knew I was in for a good show. No one makes me cry like Moreland. I’ve followed Bloss’s career since we were in high school and he only gets better and better. But somehow I wasn’t familiar with Pomeroy’s work, which meant I was also in for an incredible surprise. Think Big Thief meets Gillian Welch—her chops and vocal clarity kept me in awe all night. It truly was the perfect trio, especially for those of us who find solace in shared melancholy.
I know I’m not the only one who typically only sets foot in a church for a funeral. This listening room isn’t a church, just part of one, but being there did feel like a celebration of life. Tulsa needed this. We know we have the talent; now we have a space for sharing it with music lovers who go out not to talk through the show—but to hear, here.
The Pickup's reviews are published with support from The Online Journalism Project.
