Years ago, I saw the singer/songwriter Kathy Mattea at the Tangier in Akron. Sans any visual flair, the show was almost two hours of Ms. Mattea on a stool, accompanied by a backup guitar player and a single white-hot spotlight illuminating the stage. It was a stripped-down affair, where all the attention was placed squarely on the two guitars and the heavenly voice of Ms. Mattea.