“… when Meloy took the stage the audience pulled an about-face, paying rapt attention to the performer throughout his 90-minute set.”

Colin Meloy is a true entertainer.

This fact is well known to the many fans of Meloy’s band, the Decemberists. This is also why I was confounded to find a few dozen empty seats when I arrived at the Pabst Theater just 10 minutes before Tuesday’s concert was to begin.

Once folk opener Laura Gibson was a couple of songs into her set, it became clear to me that the empty seats would all soon be claimed by what I’ve come to fondly refer to as ICMs. ICMs, or Inconsiderate Crowd Members, can be found at any public event, but they were out in droves for this otherwise remarkable performance.

Gibson, a Portland, Ore. native, quickly formed a rapport with the more polite members of the audience through clever but timid banter between enchanting compositions.

Gibson’s guitar work consists mainly of finger picking that’s not quite simplistic, but never sounds busy. Her rich, satiny voice is what drew me into her songs, which flitted between lullabies and country-folk. Though her manner of singing initially came across as slightly affected, her shy, genuine demeanor onstage defused my suspicion that her style was contrived.

Unfortunately, Gibson’s skillful performance was interrupted numerous times by the ICMs arriving up to 30 minutes after the start of the show. The seating was reserved, so each time someone came late, everyone else had to stand up to let them get to their seats. After arriving, the ICMs consistently disrupted.

Please don’t think you were sneaky, ICM No. 1, when you crept out mid-song to buy a PBR tall boy, letting your seat flip back up with an obnoxiously loud “ka-chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk.” ICM No. 2, you weren’t any quieter when you turned the ringer down on your Razor.

Were you wearing Velcro shoes, ICM No. 3? I think No. 1 probably heard you out at the bar when you loudly unstrapped and then restrapped your grandpa kicks. Oh, and ICM No. 4, you almost got away with it … I nearly didn’t hear you crunch your empty beer can when ICM Nos. 5-18 filed into the theater 20 minutes late, making everyone in their respective rows stand up.

Thankfully, when Meloy took the stage the audience pulled an about-face, paying rapt attention to the performer throughout his 90-minute set.

Since much of the Decemberists’ material is penned by Meloy, the majority of his set consisted of a sampling of the band’s tunes. Meloy did an excellent job choosing songs that spanned the Decemberists’ entire catalog. He also treated the audience to a few songs he’s written more recently, which he said might be recorded by the band this summer for a new album.

Most of the Decemberists’ songs sounded great performed acoustically, especially the earlier, less produced material like “Apology Song,” “Shiny” and “Red Right Ankle.” It was interesting to see the songs played in the way they were probably written – on an acoustic guitar by Meloy himself. In this way, his performance was almost like a concentrated shot of the Decemberists.

“O Valencia,” on the other hand, sounded sparse and boring. The hit single’s repetitive guitar part was unattractively laid bare when performed without the usual accompanying instrumentation.

The number of Decemberists songs Meloy played was appropriate, considering that the band had to cancel an expansive tour due to illness just a few months ago. He did, however, also play a few classic folk songs such as “The Drowned Lovers” in addition to material from his tour release, “Colin Meloy Sings Live! Sam Cooke.”

Between songs, Meloy was very chatty, sometimes wryly talking to the audience for a few minutes before playing. This was where he truly went above and beyond, easily soliciting audible reactions from the crowd.

Before beginning his first song, he gave the audience an update on the Pennsylvania democratic primary and did so again later in the evening. During his encore, Meloy introduced the audience to the trinkets sitting on a table behind him, all of which had names and back-stories.

One of these was a large quartz crystal named Cornwallis; another, a small shadow box with a naked mermaid holding a length of rope. Meloy said he’s still trying to discern the meaning of the length of rope.

Meloy’s natural knack for entertaining carried the evening straight through the encore, and when the show ended it seemed the entire audience was genuinely sad to see him go. Not just because the music was over, but because it almost felt like we were losing a friend. Perhaps this is the mark of a true entertainer.

> Comments