Feeling a kinship with the performers at the Brooklyn Music Hall, I enter the venue eagerly anticipating my two fellow Oregonians’ performances. Before headliner Colin Meloy, headman for The Decemberists, takes the stage, Laura Gibson quietly finds her way into the spotlight.
Taking up her guitar—garbed in cowboy boots and country dress—Gibson embodies the stereotype of the country girl coming to the big city, bewildered and overwhelmed by the noise, bright lights, and crowds. She is arrested by her fear, her face remaining blank as her soft voice rings out, reflecting her nervousness in its quiet innocence. Delicate, soft, and sweet, she gently sings lyrics that reflect none of this timidity. Brutally honest, beautifully descriptive, and fearlessly introspective, she captivates me with lines like, “Memories are silent films I’ll play from time to time”; “Forget about the end, forget about what may have been”; and, “But here in my empty room only candles glow tonight.” Despite her confident songwriting skills, her stage manner leaves me yearning for more; a smile, a sway from left to right, any sort of motion to show she is enjoying herself while on stage, but her trepidation holds her stationary except for the occasional toe-tapping.
A stark contrast to Gibson, Meloy, a glass of red wine in one hand and the bottle in the other, commands the audience’s attention as soon as he steps onto the stage. Completely at ease, he jokes and banters with the audience. Instead of drinking the Smart water on the table, he opts for the “dumb water” in his wine glass and later, glares at the bottle of wine when he forgets his lyrics.
Bringing folklore and fairytales to life through his stories, Meloy, a true “writer of fiction,” presents a renewed, reborn epic poem. He echoes the days of Homer, when epic poems were sung rather than written. This roistering musician produces music that is unique, original, and a groundbreaking new interpretation of the old. Returning to the days of sea shanties and folk songs, Meloy creates a fantastical world of the past, describing the elegance of the Kingdom of Spain and the drudgery of the working class, depicting murderous thieves, dirty sailors, soldiers, and struggling women, the dregs of society. Seeing Meloy in concert, one must be ready and willing to forswear the present and embark on a journey to the past, for this talented storyteller drags you back in time with the power of his words.
Two of the songs Meloy performs highlight his powerful storytelling: “O Valencia!” and “Mariner’s Revenge.” Listening to Meloy sing “O Valencia!”, a dichotomy of emotions consume me. His powerful, compelling voice lifts me, causing me to smile, while his distraught tale of love lost tears at my soul. As the song ends, I am left melancholy, yet smiling wistfully.
The evening ends with “Mariner’s Revenge,” highlighting Meloy’s story-telling talents with a long tale of a vengeful, loving son. Frenzied, the crowd sings along, cheering, clapping, dancing, and waving its many arms in the air to imitate the gaping maw of the giant, ship-eating whale. Never, in all the concerts I have attended, has a performance generated this much energy, enthusiasm, and euphoria in an audience. Bringing his audience with him on a journey to unknown worlds, Meloy leaves some smiling, some crying, and some awestruck. Reading his lyrics on my computer screen days later, I still smile inexplicably. The best concert is the one that stays with you for days. Meloy’s is among the best.
