The Best-Laid Plan
Clark knew full well why it was that Saturday night's show had sold out in four minutes, and as wonderful as Beauty Pill's collection of angular and melodic post-punk was, it wasn't them. Neither was it Owls & Crows, whose opening set was a juggernaut of hard, no-nonsense rawk that could have headlined a show just as satisfyingly as Beauty Pill's. The irrepressible crowd, who had come from up and down the east coast, across the continent, and even across the Atlantic, had come for the Dismemberment Plan, playing again for the first time (technically, second counting Friday's show) since they packed it in at the 9:30 Club back in 2003, coming together over the weekend for two benefit shows for Callum Robbins.
And it seemed, for the nearly two hours that the Plan held the stage, like maybe the intervening years had just been a wisp of a dream, and things were picking up right where they left off.
Morrison and company threw down the gauntlet right out of the gate. Opening with their sly dig at indie rock ennui, "Do the Standing Still," the challenge was out from note one: you're going to dance, you're going to move, and you're going to like it, or you're going to be the target of this song. The crowd, particularly the front half of the room, was more than up to the task, getting so into it that bassist Eric Axelson had to caution people to be a little more careful that no one got hurt in the press of bodies. When Morrison exhorted the gathering to throw their hands in the air and wave them like they just didn't care, during "Back and Forth", hundreds of hands shot up and waved. After the darkly anthemic "Time Bomb", he joked that the crowd reaction reminded him of a Creed show (the metaphor even included mention of a Stapp-ish greased up chest which was either disturbing or thrilling, depending on your perspective). But he asked us all to take things from the Patriot Center down to a basement club for "The City", and hundreds of sets of hips dutifully followed suit as the song's slinky synth lines wound their way around the room. When the first encore began with "Ice of Boston", fans up front climbed onstage, as is tradition, and danced and sang along. Actually, sing-alongs were the rule of the night, as nearly every song, culled from all four Plan records (with heavy emphasis on Emergency & I, which was played almost in its entirety) seemed like yet another crowd favorite, and for many choruses the audience was nearly as loud as Morrison. The packed house was in the palm of the band's hand throughout.
The night felt like a bliss-filled family reunion of sorts. Morrison, always quick with a smile onstage, seemed to grin wider than ever with every passing song. The rest of the band was all smiles as well, and the jokes and laughter were plentiful. "I'm about to do something that's going to make all of you very uncomfortable," he warned prior to "Girl O'Clock". Axelson interjected, "And by 'you', he means 'me.'" As it turned out, the crush of bodies onstage during "Ice of Boston" on Friday night had broken a piece of equipment that allows the band to use both keyboards at once; without it, on the only song they had that actually used both keyboards, Morrison was forced to sit on Axelson's lap for most of the song. The moment was both funny and endearing.
And, amid the laughter and the booty-shaking, there were plenty of poignant moments as well. J. Robbins came out to introduce the band, and a hush came over the crowd as he talked about his son's fight with Spinal Muscular Atrophy, and he offered a heartfelt and moving thanks to everyone for the outpouring of support so many have given to Callum. The band also took a moment to talk about those who had sold tickets for well over face value on Craigslist and Ebay, immediately drawing an angry boo from the crowd for scalpers, but then pointed out the more positive flipside, those people who sold the tickets for greater prices but donated the proceeds directly to Callum's fund. Thanks were also warmly given to the Washington City Paper and the Black Cat for not only making the event happen, but also making it so that every dollar from every ticket went directly to the fund.
And finally, Morrison talked about the fact that Chuck Brown was playing a show at the 9:30 Club over the weekend, and that considering that, the crowd was lucky he'd even showed up for this gig. The joke was in service of talking about what it means to be a lifelong musician. It's no easy feat, and for a group of artists making their way into their mid-thirties, a subject of a lot of thought and consideration. Morrison singled out both Chuck Brown, still a force to be reckoned with at 72, and J. Robbins himself, as inspirations to him in making a life in music. And if anything defines people like Brown and Robbins, it's that constant drive to move forward and to try new things. So while there may be some bittersweet feelings at the fact that there was no indication, despite all the fun that was had onstage and in the crowd Saturday, that any of these musicians want to go back to what they once were, it's probably that very fact that will keep them all vital (and maybe primed for the occasional reunion benefit) well into their futures. And that should keep all of us from standing still for years to come, too.
Photos by Flickr user Rory, used by permission.