R.E.M. Wrap-Up, Part 1: The Openers

(Yes, I realize that “later tonight before I go to bed” became “about a week and a half later.”  Some things will never change).

The plan all along wasn’t to go to three R.E.M. shows; back in April I was content to get tickets for the June 13th show in Massachusetts – it was only through the gentle prodding of my friends that I found myself, for all intents and purposes, following the band on tour for a week.  It was one of the best experiences (and I will elaborate on what I mean by that later) in ages.

But I’ll get personal next post.  First, let’s talk music.

The National opened all three shows with (just about) the same set and the same scenario – the crowd filtered in while the band played a setlist almost entirely populated by tunes from last year’s Boxer.  While more and more people seemed to be in the audience each night, most of the crowd missed out.  While their songs belong in smaller, darker venues, the band toed the line between faithfully replicating the (fantastic) arrangements on the album and breathing new life into the songs.  I’ve yet to see the band in what I will call their “natural habitat” (think Bowery Ballroom, etc) but I was transfixed by how good these songs sounded live.  Beginning with “Start a War,” Matt Berninger’s rich voice filled the empty amphitheatres, but it was the rest of the band, including violin, bassoon, bass trombone, and trumpet, that brought these songs alive.

In particular, the closing trio of “Apartment Story,” “Fake Empire,” and “Mr. November” excelled over all the rest (at best, the venue was half full by this point, so at least the late comers heard the best parts of the set).  “Apartment Story” featured a sparcer arrangement building to the full band rather than starting off at full-speed.  “Fake Empire,” the first track on Boxer, seems natural at this point in the set; the horn section returned and made their presence known in the outro.  By this point, most of the apathetic heads in the audience turned towards the stage and were greeted with Alligator’s closing track “Mr. November.”

I don’t remember where I read it, but whoever it was said that those who haven’t seen The National live will be won over when the band closes with their familiar set-ender.  While the Boxer songs that preceeded it aren’t exactly “light,” their strengths lie in the subtle nuiances that unfold through repeated listens (read: this isn’t arena rock).  However, “Mr. November” barrels through with quick snare rolls (drummer Bryan Devendorf is the band’s secret weapon) and ringing arpeggios.  Even Berninger finds himself possessed by the music – his two-handed, slanted grip on the microphone and stand become bent over screams that seemingly eminate from the deepest part of Berninger’s body, painfully exiting through his mouth into his microphone.  It’s the best kind of set-closer – one that leaves jaws agape and the ears wanted more.

The crowds for Modest Mouse were universally larger and louder; I’d later find that Modest Mouse was almost as much of a draw as R.E.M. was.  I shouldn’t be as surprised at this as I was – their fans worship their albums, delving into his lyrics like a modern-day Wordsworth (or, perhaps more appropriately, Baudellaire).  I’ve been at best a casual Modest Mouse fan – every time I find myself enamored with a few songs, I find others that turn me off just as quickly.  That being said, the current live incarnation of Modest Mouse is a must-see – banjo, two drummers, and series of instrumental trade-offs among the front four musicians give each song the odd quirks that fit Brock’s dark poetry.

Brock himself is an intense frontman; at various points he reaches Henry Rollins levels of intensity that made me ask whether a paramedic was on-call just in case he passes out.  He made the best use of his toys as well, playing the banjo and guitar with equal aggression, making frequent use of his second, distorted microphone for an alternate vocal effect, and even barking into his guitar pickups (which I’m not entirely sure how that works – he must have a different type of pickup installed because I certainly can’t scream into my guitar and have it come through the amplifier).

While Brock commands attention amidst the controlled chaos his band produces, he’s happy to share the spotlight (to a degree) with former Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr.  Marr stands at the front of the stage opposite Brock, silently given twin billing despite blending right in with the rest of the band.  Aside from the occasional backing vocal and a turn behind a tiny electric piano during “The Good Times are Killing Me,” Marr seems perfectly content to play his guitar with little fanfare.

The song selection fit the band well; aside from We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank’s “Dashboard,” the setlists leaned on new songs and older, louder songs (read: no “Float On,” no “Third Planet” or “Gravity Rides Everything” from Moon & Antarctica).  However, these songs killed with the diehards – each night people lost their minds when “Tiny Cities Made of Ashes” and “Do the Cockroach” began, even with some brave souls dancing and singing along as the rest of R.E.M.’s crowd poured into the venue.  Those that came early were rewarded with two excellent (yet very different – I can’t imagine seeing The National and Modest Mouse touring together in the future) sets.  It says a lot about R.E.M. that they would bring two capable openers on tour with them, let alone a band with a cult following and stage presence that could undermine a lesser band.

While The National and Modest Mouse set the bar high, R.E.M. surpassed these expectations each night.  That’s for the next post, though.