A
hectic 3 gigs in 4 days draws to a close with something completely different
again; after some girly ramshackle garage rock in Bristol on Saturday, it’s
back down the M4 for some cerebral, occasionally slow-burn alt-indie country/
folk from Oregon tunesmiths The Decemberists. After my first, very enjoyable, encounter
with them, at this same venue 4 years back (gig 808) I’d picked up more of
their back catalogue, generally liking most of it but finding parts a little
self-indulgent and veering towards the “Prog Alert” button, as I’d been previously
warned about. Nevertheless, new album “What A Terrible World, What A Beautiful World”
has on early listens continued the good straightforward path of its’ breakthrough
predecessor “The King Is Dead”, so I’m up for some more “live” Decemberists!
So
was Tim, so he picked us up for a catch up during a swift drive down and early
arrival at the already busy venue – t’was a sell-out tonight! Unfortunately,
that meant we were there for solo opener, harpist Serafina Steer, who was
awful. Apparently working through certain song themes – instructional, karaoke
and ghost songs – it all came across as just inaccessibly weird for weird’s
sake, and despite her efforts to engage the crowd, this set was one to just
grit your teeth and unwillingly endure. Thankfully, better was to come as,
after a short wait in our increasingly crammed usual spot, stage right, a
trumpet fanfare heralded the arrival of the Decemberists, dead on 9. Mainman
Colin Meloy took the stage solo for opener “The Singer Addresses His Audience”,
the band joining him in stages to fill in the sound to a crescendo, before
bursting into the sudden, bouncy and brassy “Wake Up Boo!” soundalike that is the
upbeat “Cavalry Captain”, possibly the Decemberists’ most pure “pop” moment to
date.
“Welcome
to the show; together, collectively, we’ll have fun; there may be some low
moments – sadness, tragedy, death – but eventually we’ll prevail!” announced
the bearded Meloy at its’ conclusion, the first of many lengthy and
articulately phrased soliloquys from the man tonight – many of which, oddly,
involved apologising to, “the people of Bristol,” for spreading a long-held
misapprehension that Depeche Mode originated from there! Clearly a very
intelligent man – the use of words such as “obfuscate” and “paradigm” during
said speeches underlining this – Meloy occasionally veers towards
clever-dickness, but unlike, say, “comedian” David Mitchell, who always comes
across as utterly desperate to convey to his audience just how brow-beatingly
intelligent he is and thereby shows himself up as a smug twat, Meloy rescues
himself with his self-effacing humour and wry, witty attitude. Musically, his
band mirror the character of their talisman, who clearly has a voracious and
varied appetite for music and funnels it directly through the filter of his
intellect. The set thereby veered through REM influenced alt-country (“Down By
The River” and the excellent, strumalong “Calamity Song”), almost 50’s doo-wop balladry
(newie “Philomena”, introduced as “a dirty song!”), through the lengthy and
slightly jarring prog workout of “The Island” and thankfully out the other side
to the acerbic slow-burn country character assassination of “Los Angeles I’m
Yours” and the tub-thumping, Violent Femmes-esque murder ballad of “The Rake’s
Song” (“I don’t know why you’ve cheered – it’s a disgusting song – you’re all
complicit!”).
Also,
given the few times I’ve actually chanced to listen to the new album, I was
surprised how vividly I recalled new tracks played tonight, testament to their
increasing hookiness, and thankfully their move away from those “prog” days. “Make
You Better” was a late set highlight, it’s subtle, moody verses ceding to an
immense chorus and harmonic crescendo. Typically perversely, Meloy announced
his intention to close the set with their worst number, strumming a couplet
from “Dracula’s Daughter” before a fine “O Valencia” to finish a 1 ½ hour set
that seemed half that. We got 2 encores as as well – a 3 song first,
highlighting the galloping “Charming Man”-alike of “Sporting Life”, then “The
Mariner’s Revenge”, a widescreen sea shanty involving some audience
participation primal screaming as we disappeared into the belly of a whale.
This amazingly took us to 2 hours, a lengthy wait for a set-list bearing fruit
before a swift drive back. Varied, chameleonic, literary, highly articulate and
cerebral, yet currently writing damn fine songs with memorable hooks; I’m very
much enjoying The Decemberists!
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