The Samberg “On a Boat” shoutout was inevitable, but the fact that it broke out while we were still strolling down the pier, well before nautically justified, did not bode entirely well. Here’s the thing: a concert on a cocktail cruise is at constant risk of sinking, like a top-heavy ferry full of drunken partiers, in a sea choppy with kitschy cliche (see what I mean?).
On the other hand, like all clichés, it is founded on an impeccable premise. Sunset! Water! City skyline! The sense of irresponsibility that comes with diverging from all terrestrial authorities! Onboard, we breathed a different air. We were sailors now.
The music got underway shortly after the boat did. Any misgivings were not helped any by the pre-show music on the PA – “I’ll love you for you, will you love me for me?” Words – other than “Unrecognized,” which seems charitable at best – failed both Shazam and me.
But nothing betters crappy records like good performances. Warming the crowd was local boy and Berklee grad Tim Blane who played skillful dorm-rock that went over oh-so-well with a collegiate crowd of cocktail dresses and baseball caps, lip gloss and well-tended suntans, who sat at his feet in singalong configuration.
The sound carried comfortably throughout the boat, allowing passengers to take the air, chat, sip. Skirts blew upwards in the prow. It was the coolest I’d been all week (temperature-wise, at least). For someone returning to Boston after a long absence, it was a nice way to be reminded of some of the city’s attractions, getting unusual views of the Garden, the ICA, the Pavilion, the delightful Zakin Bridge.
But Mr. Ben Kweller didn’t stand for no singalong sitting. The boat started rocking, literally, as if on cue, and Kweller demanded that we abandon chairs and huddle close. With the band at floor level without the benefit of a riser, the room felt like the later stages of a wedding reception or a high school prom. Kweller, who would have to look up to meet Pedroia’s eye, all but vanished in seconds in a forest of panting young shoulders chanting along to every word, including couples singing into each other’s faces and one slightly out-of-place older couple steadily grinding over near the portholes.
Kweller’s sloe-eyed reserve and nerdy enthusiasm can make him look like Jason Schwartzman’s younger brother, or maybe the guy from Anvil before the Fall. He is a quietly fantastic guitar player: deliberate, articulate and adept at abruptly shifting registers at his songs’ behest. At one point the band skidded into a little reggae interlude about, you guessed it, boats. “This Is War” generated an impressive racket given that Kweller was accompanied by only bass and drums. “Sundress” swooned as the crowd crooned “I dooooo… everything you want me to,” and indeed, Kweller made sure to satisfy everyone, taking and dedicating request after request.
As we pulled back to the pier, the band left for a quick stroll around the prow before coming back to play “Penny On The Traintracks,” an encore demanded by a crowd determined not to go anywhere. Then again, I’m not certain the gangplank was down. Maybe we had nowhere to go.
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