SoundProof - Live: Ben Kweller

"Calling All Die-Hard Ben Kweller Fans," was the plea. The ad summoned Torontonians to a free Ben Kweller performance being taped live at The Berkeley Church for a new television series called Beautiful Noise. Recorded shows can be a forced and laborious experience (if you haven't been to one before, don't worry, you aren't missing out on much) — but I was hoping this wouldn't be the case for Kweller.

The Berkeley Church was transformed into a mock studio for the occasion, with more moving cameras and flashing lights than you could shake a stick at. After an agonizingly long wait and what seemed like endless announcements inside the church, the tiny performer appeared in typical Kweller apparel (cords, t-shirt, suit coat, and a furry hat almost covering his eyes), his band in tow. They made their way through the crowd to the stage, which while ready for an intimate performance, looked more like a Big Brother set than an arena ready for some damn good music.

Kweller opened up the night with "Walk On Me", garnering instant audience approval and waking the masses from the slumber caused by the delayed start. Kweller was well-supported by Chris Morrissey on bass and Mark Stepro on drums and vocals, both of whom have been touring with him since the release of his self-titled album last year. Six songs in the hour-long set came from that record, but he did cover tracks from all three of his major releases. Overall, it made for a sentimental set; heartfelt songs dearest to Kweller himself seemed to be the criteria for this occasion. Perhaps the fact that the performance was for a television series inspired him to choose his most endearing and personal tracks.

"Thirteen" was announced as an intimate song he crafted on the piano and it was sung to that effect — although thanks to an unplugged piano, he very nearly didn't get to sing it at all. "Everything was working before," he insisted, making light of the stagehand mistake. "I swear to god we did do sound check!" It brought a rare easy feeling to a crowd constantly being followed by cameras.

The most striking element of the set, as usual, was Kweller's phenomenal musicianship. Each of his songs has a story and a pulse, and he delivers each individual tune in the way it's supposed to be played. When he's on the piano, he's soft; when he's drowning in distortion, he's loud and screams tastefully; when he's playing the acoustic and harmonica, it's like he's reading a book to his audience. Whatever instrument he's working — and let me tell you, it's a long list — he obviously feels at ease and makes it look like as effortless as baking a cake.

But then, just as the set was reaching its pinnacle after the energetic "Penny On the Train Track" — it was over. The band grouped up and pulled off a simultaneous bow together, then left the stage through the audience. There would be no encore (You can't play a set without an encore!), and I was left with the empty feeling of something missing.

"Thanks for coming and being part of the audience, guys," came the last unsatisfying announcement.

"I want my money back," was my thought.

Oh . . . wait a second. It was free.