The Decemberists - 05/25/2005 - Avalon, Boston, MA
I anticipated a fairly mellow show. Something reminiscent of a folk concert, something that was probably better suited for a seated audience in a local theater. I did not expect what was, undoubtedly, one of the best shows I've ever been too.
First a few numbers:
Instruments Used on Stage: 19
Largest Number of Tambourines Used Simultaneously: 4
Band Members: 6
Extra Friend Appearing Occasionally to Take Candids and Join in on Tambourine: 1
Number of Intentional Semi-Choreographed Dances: 3
Number of Times Someone Cut a Caper to A Jewish Wedding Tune: 2
American Apparel Plugs: 2
Number of Mass Audience Participation Moments: 2
The show began with a flying leap. They began with "The Infanta" and the audience was clapping along in unison within a bout five seconds of the band taking the stage. The contrast between the drumming and the fiddle is what makes this song. The beat is irresistibly fast, loud, and even. The fiddle breaks the beat into pieces in all the right places and they know just when to drop out all the noise and take a moment to show off their vocals.
Chris and Petra's voices also complement each other perfectly. He's high and slightly whiny and nasal. Her voice is deeper and fuller, with a wonderful sharp sound at the back of everything she sings. Together, the voices are beautifully harmonized, with an edge that reminds me of shape-note singing.
The moment that stole the show however, was the moment when Petra took over the microphone and got her solo number, singing some song about Wuthering Heights which I have never before encountered from The Decemberists. The song is something like Carly Simon meets heart breaking female solo number from 70's rock opera, meets Decemberists. It also comes complete with occasional choreographed hand gestures which added to the moment immensely. It was mind-blowingly good and if they don't have a policy of requiring Petra to have a solo number every show I will weep, cry, and start a massive sit-in campaign demanding that she get her time. Because, really, holy crap was it good.
Spirits remained high all evening. So high that, during a particularly rowdy onstage moment, the band decided to trade instruments, massacring each other's solos instead of playing their own. This still managed to be highly entertaining. At the return of instruments to their proper owners, it was next decided that the band would jam out to something vaguely reminiscent of 50's surfer themes and undoubtedly invented on the spot.
This next transitioned into a festive Jewish wedding tune. This was the first of two times in the show where band members danced madly upon the stage and attempted to do strange kicks with their knees. The audience was so engaged (i.e. lulled into a mind warping trance) that we were persuaded to slowly lower, with the band, to the floor. And when it appeared that only the front of the audience was going to participate, the entire audience was sternly commanded, with firm arm motions, to get down on the darn floor already.
I repeat: The floor. At a club show. The entire audience.
We did. Over half a room full of people at Avalon, crouching on their knees. Only when everything and everyone was silent did the band begin, from their positions on the stage floor, to sing the last verse of the song.
A moment such as this can only come in the final, tumultuous moments of a show. Sadly, this was the last song. However, knowing that we could obtain an encore, the audience happily lost its shit for about five minutes to drag them back.
When I was younger I actually believed that musicians might not actually return to the stage for an encore, unless to clapped hard enough. These days, encores feel more like token efforts on our part and token surprise on theirs, all to get to the last two songs of the show which we all knew were coming all along. It's lost it's magic. However, every once in a while a show comes along where it's different. We've all been there, clapping like crazy because, even if you know they're coming back eventually, it's not happening soon enough and maybe if you clap harder or stomp louder, maybe you can force them to come back now.
This is, of course, the best kind of encores. The kind we're always hoping for and rarely get. Could this show have had an encore of any other variety? I think not.
We demanded loudly and they returned, performing a haunting live version of "Eli, The Barrow Boy." They then looked at us and began to give us instructions. The art of groaning, as if swallowed by a whale was explained. Next, the secret sign to tell us when and where in the coming song we needed to make these noises, was displayed. (Apparently the international sign for whale swallowing involves a band member moving his arms together and apart again, vertically, as if they were the jaws of a whale.)
When the time came we groaned as if the whale itself was present and swallowing us, the whole audience, in one gulp. And afterwards we chortled with glee as the evil captain met his end.
Seriously, when was the last time you went to a show and cheered as evil captains met their ends in the briny deep? When was the last time you sang with glee about ghosts with wheelbarrows, soldiers going off too or returning from war, and maids seeking letters from their loves.
The Decemberists take all of this tradition and make it contemporary in a way I haven't encountered since my mom first forced Steeleye Span and Fairport Convention on me.
There is something inexplicably modern about this replaying of the past. As if we're searching for an escape, a diversion, a reminder of what our lives are in comparison to others, and some sort of message about what is really important in our lives.
The Decemberists don't give any straight answers, they aren't trying to. They do remind us, however, about what is important, what's enjoyable, and that we need to start taking our daily trails and torments with a little heaping of perspective.
