All you really need to know about Iron And Wine’s Sam Beam is that he has more than a way with words; the musician has a gift for taking you to a place and a time, a way of plucking you up to stand alongside him in a scene that’s a world away but somehow still incredibly familiar.
Beam understands the ghosts that sit underneath our skin. He’s spent over a decade assigning lines and notes and sounds to something we don’t quite know how to say ourselves.
He’s all heartfelt eloquence and hushed confidence that’s full of restraint – only letting the intensity that sits below the surface peek through just enough.
Much like Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon, Beam has driven Iron And Wine from a solo moniker to something bigger and bolder than even he could never have fathomed.
The days of albums recorded in small dusty rooms with nothing but a guitar have given way to bluesy, jazz-fused flourishes delivered by the hands of a five-piece band.
Which means an Iron And Wine show really happens in two parts.
There are the songs that beg for an open fire and the smell of pine, then the ones that shimmer and shine, lifting you onto your toes bring the weight out from your chest.
But we’ll get to that soon.
First, the soaking wet, thick, grey Melbourne night began with Victorian up-and-comer D.D Dumbo (aka Oliver Perry), a one-man show full of looping drum beats, textures, and dense layers of quirky pop.
The headliners then kicked off their close to 100-minute set with ‘Woman King’ before quickly rolling into ‘Sunset Soon Forgotten’ and ‘Boy With A Coin’ – songs originally recorded with a folky acoustic feel, but transformed into full band jams. This set the tone for the night.
Every song was given a twist, be it via full reinvention, or simply through varied pacing, sang slightly off the usual beats and inflections.
The early part of the set managed to be simultaneously soaring and intricate, but it wasn’t until Beam gave his band mates a break and picked up his acoustic that the show really started to crackle.
The artist called for requests from the crowd: they came shyly at first, but then flowed freely throughout the 30-ish minute solo portion.
He first settled for ‘The Trapeze Swinger’, a track, he recounted, that was written nearby in a Melbourne hotel room.
‘Southern Anthem’ and ‘Sodom, South Georgia’ also featured in the Beam-only set, which concluded with ‘Such Great Heights’ – a Postal Service cover that he made his own.
Then it was back to full band and newer, rootsy Americana material, such as the poppy-but-nostalgic ‘Tree By The River’ and the dirge-y ‘Grace For Saints and Ramblers’.
And despite what his lyrically heavy subject matter suggests, Beam is a delightful, light, and surprisingly funny presence on stage. (“This song’s called ‘A Stranger Laid Beside Me’. You all know what that’s like,” he quipped.)
Though the sound of the newer full band is admirably precise, at times it could be accused of bordering on lounge music, bar for the frontman’s voice. That voice is is what sets Iron And Wine deep in your bones.
These powerful vocals ended the show, with the artist once again solo on stage for a completely instrument-free version of ‘Flightless Bird, American Mouth’.
It was so quiet and still inside The Forum that at one moment you could have sworn you could hear the trams racing by on Flinders Street.
He held a guitar but never touched it, and pushed his voice to its highest place in an unforgettable closer. That’s the thing about Sam Beam.
