:: Okkervil River - Billboard, Melbourne - May 2009

By: Camille Broomhead

If you missed Okkervil River’s recent gig at Billboard, commence kicking yourself now. There are few bands I’ve seen recently that bring so much sheer verve, stamina and enthusiasm to the stage. It almost went horribly wrong though, for me rather than the band that is. Trawling down the stairs into the depths of the Scarface inspired (and not in a good way) venue, I found the no-nonsense bearer of the precious, eight page long, guest list, stated my name and patted my “plus one”. “There’s no plus one here”, she said brusquely, as the ticket sellers simultaneously yelled, “Sold Out”. I stuttered. I blushed. Plus one looked crest fallen. But then a call was made, luck was on our side and, after being given a rap on the knuckles for not bringing my confirmation e-mail, we were in!

First up were The Lucksmiths, who recently announced their retirement as a result of “everyday life defeating The Melbourne crowd’s apathetic response to the lead singer/drummer’s announcement that this was the band’s final gig with that particular line-up was staggering. Even though I thought The Lucksmiths sounded like the unremarkable love child of the Hoodoo Gurus and Tim Freedman, I still think credit should be given where it’s due, and these guys have been battling it out as a little indie band for thirteen or so years. A little respect please Melbourne.

It was the first time I’d been to Billboard, and it’s gotta be said, it has a serious identity crisis going on. What Okkervil River was doing in a blacker than black room with three bars, two ugly side screens that made the band look like they were on Rage circa 1988 and stroke inducing lighting, remains a mystery known only to the booking agent. What irritated me the most were the six rectangular screens behind the band. Early on, they projected a window, which made me think of Play School, and at other times throughout the show they projected cheap, garish, hyper-literal interpretations of the songs. A song about love you say? Well let’s put up a huge, pink…you guessed it, heart! One positive thing about the club is that it has great sight lines. My posse and I, including Plus One’s boyfriend and The Greatest Okkervil Fan in the Known Universe, crammed up happily against a bench and had an uninterrupted view of the stage.

When Will Sheff walked onto the stage, channelling Sean Lennon in glasses, a beard and a suit, the squashed in capacity crowd went nuts. As if somehow being psychically aware of our guest list crisis aversion, he dedicated the first song, Plus Ones, to the people in the audience of the same status. My plus one and I beamed at each other. Throughout the performance, Sheff’s attire and demeanour shifted in a way that parallelled the chameleon-like quality of his songs. By the end of the gig, he’d ditched the glasses, revealing his eyes, which somehow always look as raw and vulnerable as freshly shucked oysters. He’d stripped down to a t-shirt and trousers. He’d rocked out and he’d serenaded the ladies in the audience with backhanded acoustic ballads like Girl in Port and Love to a Monster.

The rest of the band is clearly more than happy to let Sheff take centre stage, looking very content with their own roles “in the bleachers”, although Patrick Pestorius put in some fine vocals on Lost Coastlines, with a beautiful sonorous voice reminiscent of The Magnetic Fields’ Stephin Merritt.

Any banter was left to Sheff, although he was fairly reticent in that department. He was a polite and gracious host, especially humbled by the fact that people knew the names of his songs when he asked them what they wanted to hear, but he didn’t give anything more than he needed to. For example, the audience wasn’t treated to any little anecdotes about the band’s trip to Ballarat earlier that day. I imagine this is part of Sheff’s desire to preserve what he has dubbed “the intimate and mysterious bond” between musician and fan.

The set list ebbed and flowed through last year’s The Stand Ins, 2007’s The Stage Names and 2005’s Black Sheep Boy. The songs, aptly described by The New York Times as “frenetically catchy” inspired the audience to, in equal measure, throw their hands in the air and clap or stand stock still pondering crafty lyrics. Highlights included A Stone, Westfall and For Real.

Many have commented on Okkervil River’s multi-layered lyrics. They’re dark, profound and cerebral, often lulling you into a false sense of security through beautiful melodies and soaring choruses. They reference literature, pop culture and Sheff’s “personal iconography”, which largely remains a mystery to the audience, as well it should. At the heart of many of the songs is an exquisite understanding of irony. Take Pop Lie, recently performed on Letterman, as a case in point. This song is hilariously self reflexive and clever. In it, Sheff reflects on the vacuity of the pop machine, but reminds us of our complicity in its creation, “And you’re lying when you sing along”. Sheff has essentially created an anthemic song, which incidentally had the Sunday night crowd singing at the top of their lungs, about the manufacture of such an anthemic song!

I tried to fight the urge to speculate if Lauren Gurgiolo, a new addition to the band, was Will’s lover or whether he was looking at me during Girl in Port. I tried to avoid becoming one of the characters in Stage Names…and I failed miserably. This fact is both enlightening and depressing at the same time! After two encores, rounding out proceedings with Another Radio Song, the exhausted band left the building.

Greatest-Okkervil-Fan-in-the-Known-Universe and I spent the tram ride home debating whether the band would play a bigger venue next time. He argued for the negative, and I for the affirmative. It would be great to see them at the Forum, just as long as I can be in the front row. Let’s hope they won’t leave it too long until they next grace our shores.