Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros @ 9:30 Club
It's fair to say that Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros brought some things to the 9:30 Club on Tuesday night that few would have expected. Pianist Aaron Embry kicked off the sold-out show by admitting that no one had a clue as to the whereabouts of vocalist Jade Castrinos. Frontman Alex Ebert rounded out the night, but only after making his way into the pit and inviting about 800 of his newest friends to have a seat on the floor with him for the second song of the encore. Embry did give fair warning from the get-go: they're just a bunch of hippies.
The band of ten, through all the commotion, managed to keep the focus firmly on their music. Though not widely varied in their structures, the tracks from Up From Below that worked their way into Tuesday's set were pure gold, rising and falling like the natural breaths that come with a joyous run down a neighborhood street. Every man and woman onstage had that same post-run glow, coupled with an easy stride that made the roar of their psychedelic folk-rock tunes bubble up from the corners of the room, rather than burst from the speakers.
It's easy to see why many get hung up comparing this particular band to hippies and the like, given less-than-wordy tracks like "Desert Song," which inspired several band members to sit in a circle around the collective's guest sitar player. Considering Ebert's easy way of controlling the crowd, those cult comparisons do carry some weight. But "Desert Song" was mesmerizing, and not just because of the smoke coming from the piano. (Incense, perhaps? Who knows?) When the words died out, a two-man percussion team drove the heartbeat of the room. "Black Water" was similar in its minimalism, although roles reversed as the men dug deep into prolonged vocal harmonies, seemingly asking the percussionists to hang back.
Better-known tracks were equally striking. Ebert stomped toward drummer Josh Collazo in time with the opening notes of "40 Day Dream," inspiring movement across every inch of the room. Before long, Ebert had made his way into the crowd, singing with the masses the familiar 'oohs' and 'aahs' of the bridge. Naturally, "Jangling" was a crowd-pleaser, as a barefoot Ebert gently conducted the chorus, inviting D.C. citizens to lend their support. But nothing shook the room like "Home." It took only a whistle from the opening line for the Magnetic Zeros to set the entire club, even the usually stiff balcony-goers, in motion -- dancing, clapping, jumping, hollering, then singing as Ebert and Castrinos began their playful give and take. Then silence, as a packed house listened to Ebert sing in his deep rolling voice, "Ah, home. Let me come home. Home is wherever I'm with you."