Three things clued me in to the fact that Wednesday night's Grizzly Bear show at the Berklee Performance Center was going to be different from your typical rock and roll show—the guy in front of me was wearing a suit, there were patches of gray hair sprinkled throughout the audience, and the show started on time. And a typical show it was not.
First off, I can think of few better places to see Grizzly Bear perform. Berklee is the ideal venue for their music, delicately balanced harmonies falling on the ears of a seated and reverent audience. The acoustics of the place are impeccable; it's built for concerts, not for shows. And Grizzly Bear put on one hell of a concert. Listening to the performance was like putting on headphones, except with richer sound and better visuals.
Most of the time. I would love to say that the venue was perfect, but in truth, Wednesday's show was a tad less than sublime. At various points in the concert, I saw members of the audience holding their ears—not because the music was bad, but because it was too loud. While the sound was likely perfect toward the back of the venue, the orchestra-level seats at times felt trap-like, holding listeners stationary as their ears took a beating.
Volume notwithstanding, the night was nearly blemish-free. Here We Go Magic opened the show with a tight seven-song set, closing with standout tracks “Fangela” and “Tunnelvision.” The quintet—often characterized as “Luke Temple's band”—showed their chops as a true ensemble, with all five members singing throughout their thoroughly enjoyable set. They paved the way for Grizzly Bear, who took the stage to applause from restrained but adoring fans.
From the start, the band was on its game. “Southern Point” opened the show with a familiar jazzy swing that loosened the vibe in the silently attentive venue. “Cheerleader” followed smoothly on its heels, band bathed in blue to match the tempered tune. A run of non-Veckatimest songs came next, highlighted by an eerily resonant version of “Service Bell,” a track on which the band collaborated with Feist for this year's Dark Was The Night compilation. It's a song that didn't stand out for me on the record, but completely took my breath away in concert. Slow, melodic, and powerfully emotional, “Service Bell” encapsulated everything that was great about the concert.
Later in the set, “Foreground” used the same forces to stop hearts, crisply navigating Berklee's hall. As Ed Droste's voice moved over the piano that softly reverberated through the venue, there was not a single extraneous sound to be heard. The audience sat in rapture, admiring an artist who truly owned his craft. While other groups often thrive on theatrics, Grizzly Bear boils music down to its essence. They are best with simple instrumentation, haunting vocals, and silent crowds.
Which isn't to say that their faster tracks aren't enjoyable: “Two Weeks” and “Ready, Able” were certainly fun romps. But Droste's voice is a bit too mournful to really do upbeat, and occasionally the songs with denser instrumentations seemed a little forced. Grizzly Bear, no matter how critics may paint the band, is not a rock band. Christopher Bear is a talented craftsman behind the drumkit, Daniel Rossen and Droste work together to weave stunning harmonies, and bassist Chris Taylor adds textural spikes with clarinet, radio, and effect-laden flute. They are musicians, not performers. Watching the largely stationary group perform is like watching a marathon runner: the visuals aren't particularly riveting, but the product is incredibly impressive.
In a recent, much-criticized New York Times review, Ben Ratliff disparagingly marked Grizzly Bear as “precious.” I'd offer a different adjective: they're not precious, they're precise. On Wednesday night, each note was exact, each harmony perfectly pitched, and each audience member thoroughly impressed. The songs don't differ significantly from recorded versions, but I wouldn't expect them to. The compositions hit the spot, and the crowd gave a standing ovation when Grizzly Bear left the stage.
Upon the band's encore return, Rossen asked the crowd, “Do you like standing or sitting better?” Catching the audience in an awkward moment of indecision, he quickly added, “Just kidding, you don't have to stand.” Thank goodness. You wouldn't stand to listen to an orchestra. Why would you here?
