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Kurt Vile is so much happier now that his hair is out of his face. Thank goodness for ears. (Photo: TBD | Date: Mar. 02, 2011)

Kurt Vile, a rising young singer-songwriter from Philly, yesterday played a free, seven-song set at Red Onion Records & Books in Adams Morgan, a space about as big as the photo on their website suggests. This was very nice of Vile, who last played D.C. in November, packing Black Cat's backstage. He is promoting a new album, of course — Smoke Ring for My Halo, due out on Tuesday — but I doubt the handful of record sales his appearance inspired would be enough to cover his gas expenses. (He had played an in-store appearance in Boston on March 1, and would play another one in Baltimore on Wednesday night before heading to his hometown and NYC.) A Slash for the sensitive crowd, his face was lost entirely in his long wavy hair, which falls well past his shoulders and into the realm of psychedelic rock's heyday. He plays music of that kind, about half the time, but he's perhaps better known these days for his reverberating acoustics and his unschooled — but not uncaring — voice, like Leonard Cohen without a baritone.

I expected more women, as Vile seems potentially crush worthy, but men outnumbered them at least six to one. On the other hand, most of the swooning bobble-headedness came from the women; the men stood stock still, occasionally thumbing through records out of anxiousness rather than interest. (OK, that's me I'm I'm describing. That Hawaii Five-0 soundtrack did look killer, though.) Vile sang in his signature style, about people saying he has bad luck (and his not giving a fuck), while his bangs hung on the mic like a drunk man's arm on your shoulder. Or like bangs on a mic. Did he perform that classic track that closed out the last season of Eastbound & Down? Yes, he did. He also said there were "good vibes" in the room, and when asked if he gets tired hopscotching the northeast, he said, "Not really. Sometimes I get beat up by the perils." Which perils, exactly? The rest stops on the New Jersey Turnpike? He didn't explain. Singer-songwriters are so oblique.

Gallery after the jump.