Bon Iver @ Black Cat
If Bon Iver's album, For Emma, Forever Ago, is the product of one man's introspective exile from human contact and civilization, the band's live music is something completely different. The songs now take on the hopeful timbre of a man who has digested and embraced the series of sad circumstances that sent him fleeing to a cabin in the cold Wisconsin wilderness. After ending two serious relationships, one personal and the other with his former band, Justin Vernon, the man behind Bon Iver, said that the cabin was the only place he could really go. The songs he crafted there are not complex or remarkable in their structure, and yet, Bon Iver has emerged in 2008 ahead of many other bands with a similar acoustic folk sound.
Perhaps it is Vernon's voice that separates Bon Iver from their peers. In a live setting, his tenor is just as piercing and beautiful as it is on the album. He pushes his falsetto melodies to the height of a man's ability, teetering on the edge of cracking but never becoming harsh or grating. He controls it perfectly.
North Carolina band Bowerbirds should have been a good primer for Bon Iver. However, most of the crowd took little notice of them and they were forced to play their songs with an ocean of chatter in the background. Phil Moore, the lead singer of Bowerbirds, chastised the audience early on by snapping, "any time you want to shut the hell up that'd be fine." It didn't work. If anything, the back half of the venue became louder. Silence from the crowd would have suited their sound, which is not unlike the gypsy folk of Beiruit. Moore was joined by band mates Beth Tacular, who played accordion and sang faint harmonies, and Mark Paulson, who played percussion, and would later join Bon Iver to play bass.
The headliners commanded a hushed reverence that Bowerbirds should have been envious of. Vernon's howling, plaintive chorus on "Flume", the opening track from Emma and the first song of the set, was a powerful introduction to Bon Iver's live music. The audience was instantly silenced, and observed the rest of the gig with rapt attention. Guitarist Mike Noyce produced icy feedback to highlight Vernon's lilting acoustic strums. "Lump Sum" followed, driven by drummer Sean Carey's galloping snare brushes.
In live performance, Bon Iver's songs, which exude an aura of isolation, sadness, and nostalgia on the album, have been transformed into anthems of acceptance. They are arranged and played as though Vernon has come to terms with the events surrounding their genesis, and has decided to convert them into songs to be shared collectively with the crowd. While instantly recognizable to knowing ears, there are a few noticeable adjustments to the songs. The first is the addition of a full drum kit. The bass kick and snap of the the snare propel the songs forward and keep them from dragging coldly. The second is the tendency for Bon Iver to build the songs toward a huge southern rock crescendo. "Creature Fear" was one example. The song began with harmonies fit for a hallowed church service, then Vernon singing quietly, "I was teased by your blouse, spit out by your mouth." After a few pounding choruses, the tune crashed out into a drum solo and was rebuilt into a distortion-filled climax that would make My Morning Jacket proud.
And, perhaps there is a third feature of Bon Iver's live show that provides for the shift from lonely ballads to collective catharsis; the crowd's singing. For "Skinny Love", the audience echoed his shouts of, "My My My." On "The Wolves (Act I and II)", mimicking Vernon's crushing falsetto as best they could, they joined him in the swelling refrain, singing, "what might have been lost."
It is no accident that people wanted to sing along. At smaller gigs, Vernon used to pass out sheets of paper on which he wrote the lyrics to "Wolves". As the crowds grew, the exercise became cumbersome, albeit less and less essential; the crowds started to arrive with the song already on their lips. Vernon has said that the album's titular muse is a real person, but he views Emma as a kind of sobriquet for any first love. Ultimately the show was a celebration of the sad, ubiquitous fact that first loves are rarely our last, but often our most painful. With everyone singing his songs, Vernon must take comfort in knowing that, while his trials are not unique, his ability to frame and share them certainly is. And we're all thankful for it.