Two-a-Day Tuesdays: I Thought I Was Going To Broken Social Scene

The Decemberists
Electric Factory
11/1/06

I walked into this place really cold on these guys. I hadn't even meant to be there. My old roommate called and asked if I wanted to go to "the show," at the Factory, and I told him hell yeah. I couldn't believe I had forgotten to get Broken Social Scene tickets, actually. As soon as I saw the marquee, I thought I'd really fucked up.

See, Picaresque had let me down badly. It had nothing close to the lyrical intricacy of the best stretches of Castaways and Her Majesty, and it was short on the austere, evocative work of theirs that I admired most. The verandas and petticoats, gadabouts and whirligigs, vagabonds and dulcimers were starting to sound worn through. I was sure that Meloy had thrown out his arm. It worried me even more that no one else seemed to agree. I still don't see how you could hold up "The Sporting Life" against "Grace Cathedral Hill," and I am almost glad I forget who was trying to pull that shit on me.

I hadn't even gotten around to The Crane Wife before the show. For all I knew, it could've been full of sea shanties about Rabelais and pegasi, with an epic digression about scullery maids played on three plucky xylophones. I'd heard nothing but good things, though, and I was getting psyched in spite of myself. This has been one of my favorite bands for years. The dude was going to get a fair chance. They started right off with "Crane Wife Part 2", hooked me within the first ten seconds, and the healing process was in full swing.

The live act is somewhat too self-conscious and seamy to wrap up a crowd from song to song, but that may just be the nature of era-hopping vignettes with heavy conceits, I guess. Most of the crowd talked over each lull. That may be less the Decemberists' fault than it is Fishtown's. They left some really fantastic songs unplayed, hammed up a few clunkers from fucking Picaresque, but they also got in some Castaways and Her Majesty. The Crane Wife material sounded in parts as good as anything they've ever done, and reinforced my opinion that Meloy is at his best when he is plaintive and restrained. Obviously there's a considerable hot-looking, nattily dressed market for the twee bombast, but those people don't need any more attention.