The Decemberists

Empty stage. Bright red lights. The anthem of the pre-breakup USSR playing over the house PA. No, this was not a Commie convention. We were at the Great American Music Hall, waiting for the Decemberists to charm us in person like they had on all their recorded releases to date. Rounding off a tour that started in March with two shows in San Francisco’s loveliest venue, the Portland-based group was looking forward to going home and starting work on a new full-length album, but not before they gave us their usual stellar performance.
Maybe hockey fans recognized the anthem from games on TV, maybe there were one or two other russo-phones in the crowd besides me; the joke was lost on the rest, I’m pretty sure. Whether an intentional reference to their revolutionary namesakes of 1825 Russia, or just one of the group’s many quirks, the operatic anthem set the tone for the 16 numbers that comprised the hour-and-a-half rundown of the equally idiosyncratic lives and woes of legionnaires, truant children, bicycles and chimney sweeps, to name a few.
Lead singer and primary lyricist Colin Meloy’s Creative Writing degree is emphasized any time anyone sets out to lend thoughts about the band. It is impossible not to; having to reach for our Merriam-Webster several times during each of the four-minute songs, we feel our own linguistic inferiority. Parapet, corncrakes, bombazine, shrift, charabanc, laudanum and kith were just a few of the Balderdash-sounding words from the set. But Meloy is not in the habit of throwing some GRE words together haphazardly; alliterating lines like “sleet rain on the slate roof,” evocative expressions like “fecundity of homeland” and obscure references to the “Multnomah County library” in the Decemberists’ native Portland are so delightfully crafted, they restore my faith in today’s musical poetry. Second-person narration and astute storytelling is what worked so well for Dylan. This ray of linguistic brilliancy on olden time folklore and slightly morbid but intriguing subjects is a welcome change from the usual tired and overused themes of love, lust and heartbreak of the twentysomethings.
The sound might have set a 19th century mood, but the band’s appearance was comfortingly current, and assuredly Northwest. Meloy’s voice was poignant and distinct, enunciating words and forcefully strumming the guitar. The band had a very positive energy together, as the acoustic and electric bass, steel guitar, drumsticks, keyboards and accordion were raised in the air as often as the cheery band members smiled. The first part of the set sounded remarkably like the album tracks, but that was how the audience liked it. Some songs were prefaced with a one-liner about their subject. But just when we thought it could not get any better, enter smoke machine on “Chimbley Sweep.” Also, enter the lead from the opening band The Long Winters, and begin guitar-off — a quarter hour of call-and-answer of improvised chord progressions, famous riffs and laughing performers and audience. The highly anticipated progressions left the crowd pleased, smiling and wanting more.
Topping that one off with the beautiful acoustic “My Mother Was a Chinese Trapeze Artist” and “Red Right Ankle,” and coming out once again for three more songs, the catchiness of the complicated historical songs continued to amaze. We, standing to the left of the stage, were surprised and pushed aside as band member Chris Funk, sporting a fake long beard, walked around the tightly squished crowd with a big drum, steadily beating to the rhythm of “The Cautionary Song.” Rounding off the night was a sing-along cover of The Smiths’ “Ask”; the audience was brought together, and the smiley Decemberists signed off.

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