Glenn Davis opened a recent Thursday concert at Brothers Drake Meadery performing solo and acoustic - a lonely feel that echoed in his words. "Where have all the people gone I used to call my friends?" he crooned on one early tune, his slightly nasal voice oddly reminiscent of a sad Muppet.

Glenn Davis opened a recent Thursday concert at Brothers Drake Meadery performing solo and acoustic - a lonely feel that echoed in his words. "Where have all the people gone I used to call my friends?" he crooned on one early tune, his slightly nasal voice oddly reminiscent of a sad Muppet.

The answer arrived in short order when Davis' backing band, comprised of brothers Jesse and Casey Cooper of the Receiver (on drums and bass, respectively) and keyboardist/singer Sharon Udoh of Counterfeit Madison, ambled onstage just one song later. Collectively, these supporting players thickened and fleshed out the sound, which displayed surprising buoyancy even in those moments when Davis' words suggested drowning. "Can we hold on to what we used to have?" he offered on one tune, his defeated tone underscoring a growing awareness that this was an impossible task.

The concert doubled as a release party for Davis' new solo EP, Lost World, much of which was written during a rocky stretch where the Way Yes singer and songwriter struggled to overcome death (the musician's aunt passed away following a short illness) and the dissolution of his marriage. Rather than focusing on these negatives, however, most of the songs centered on healing, with Davis repeating mantra-like lines about letting bad memories wash away and allowing a stillness to settle in. On "Fly Into a Great Calm," an airy, spacious cut that felt like a deep, exhaled breath, the frontman repeated the title until it felt as if the entire audience experienced a collective drop in heart rate.

Though Davis' words were largely downcast, the music tended to exert upward force. "Bad Karma," for one, built around a shimmying, disco groove, while the tropicalia-stoked "2 Vans" witnessed the players locking into a sun-streaked island bounce.

Counterfeit Madison kicked off the evening with a short, full-band set, which frequently found Udoh wrestling with a similar sort of catharsis, addressing issues of identity and self-doubt on graceful songs delivered with spine-reinforcing confidence. "Sometimes I should shut my mouth [and] listen to your voice," the singer lectured herself on one song, which is also fine advice to follow when taking in any of Udoh's performances.