It wasn’t quite like stalking through Sherwood Forrest for Robin Hood as the swell of woollen jumpers and shin-length ankle cooling elasticised “jeans” among the trees were a bit of a give away. Through the stands and over the mound we ploughed on in search of Justin Vernon and his band of merry men, Bon Iver. This treasure hunt was all going fine aside from Melbourne’s inexplicable skipping of Autum (hello to the climate-change sceptics who’ve stumbled upon this parallel universe) and my not bringing a jacket.
However, clambering up grassy hill to look out over the vast but enthralling amphitheatre that is The Sidney Myer Music Bowl you’d expect a little more than Sally Seltmann. While I’m sure she’s a lovely lady, I could lie awake for hours wondering what the appeal is with her music. With eyes closed, there’s child at Christmas time, innocently demanding the attention of their gathered elders banging random, dusty ivories, singing “Mary Had A Little Lamb” backwards over and over again. Eyes opened and the tinkling electric keys broken only by doting sighs echoed around to the pleasant melodies.
Sadly, for all her sweetness and pottering about the stage, the apparent anonymity of her music didn’t appear to break through any further.
A wave and a bit of a cheer later, there was spittle falling menacingly but it seemed to pass before the lights were dimmed and the nine touring members of the Bon Iver collective appeared. With not word said, the faultless harmonies of “Perth” rang out across the bowl leaving everyone slightly a gasp. From the mediocrity of earlier to the silence to this, my ears weren’t ready. Water tight and hovering somewhere between Cat Stevens and John Martyn – on steroids. The intricate guitars blended with layered drums from Sean Carey and brooding sax made for quite something of an entrance.
The array of instrumentation on display throughout the opening few tracks was genuinely staggering. With a little help from the screens which flanked the stage, the views of we were treated to an intensity that their two albums haven’t portrayed. Guitar change ups galore for the whole band the way through “Towers” while the extraordinary vocal harmonies brooded through the threatening drizzle. Like so many others, the band, Justin Vernon in particular are done a disservice with their calming, studio based outputs. Flailing out across the hill this is something else again.
Having landed in 2008 with their debut album For Emma, Forever Ago the warm, understated vocals had garnered quite a following, However, it would be the curiously overblown self-titled follow up in June 2011 that transported the band quite unwittingly into the stratospheric heights of performing at The Grammy Awards just last month. Had someone told me of this future when they “leant” me the first album over three years ago, I’d probably have laughed in their face. But, there’s a key to it now that only becomes apparent as the show rolls on. It seems Mr. Vernon knows more than he lets on.
After gamely crashing through the mighty tones of “Creature Fear” the two albums had been evenly spread throughout much of the set. Minimal banter, which is normally a feature of aBon Iver show, was partaken to before the moaning drone as bass sax player Colin Stetson leered into a solo that garnered cheers and hoots without changing gear. Vernon appeared slightly unsettled as he wrestled with changing his guitar before he and the band launched as one in a hastened attack on their instruments. Scratchings, pulled strings and shaking cymbals brought the heads alive and eyes wide.
Highwater marks achieved, Vernon’s assertion that this was “the biggest show we’ve ever played… wow” was a nice footnote for the unassuming ones nestled in amongst the late blooming hipsters. Sadly, the floods of praise subsided (in my head) once the band setlist dictated that “Beth/Rest” be played dragging it all back into the depths of a Eurovision 80’s Casio-ponce-off. Suffice to say, even the great go bad but most leave it until they’ve actually been listed as such.
With the noise curfew (seriously, what the fuck? It’s a park.) imposing it’s unwelcome might, Vernon attested that the band would play on in his own cheery way. “Wahey… we don’t do that fake encore shit. But anyway we’re back! I just took a piss backstage and drank a beer so here’s two more songs!” he blurted before setting himself down with his resonator across his lap. Once the hollowed, aching vocals chimed in over the rattling tones of “Skinny Love” the crimes of torturing us with A Song For Sweden were put to bed. With the crowd singing along in full voice, this was a touching close before “The Wolves” would bring it all to an end.
With Bon Iver on the up and up, this could go anywhere from here.
– Ciaran Wilcox
