Monsters Of Folk

The supergroup. It’s a term that often leads us astray, with its promises of great things from afar and it’s mirage-like reveal upon closer inspection. We've learned to be wary, and now, in the place of blind hope is a cynical eye, which we turn on the supergroup, scoffing at their formation while at the very same time the little kid in us waits in anticipation to see if an exception will emerge. And in their live form, Monsters Of Folk are that exception.

Monsters Of Folk began behind a red curtain, teasing us with their music before stepping out into the light. And when the curtain was pulled back and we caught our first glimpse, they stood there, decked out in their dark suits, each looking like a 40’s edition of a GQ cover man. There was no hello, no ruckus, just smooth, balanced tones and harmonies filling a room that was meant to accommodate the rich dynamics of a symphony. As our eyes adjusted under that initial burst of lemon-coated light, we saw that our feast was to be a musical banquet of styles that allowed us to learn where the roots of song have led us.

The format of the show fluctuated between full band performances and mini-sets that acted as a showcase for the individual members. But even within these parameters, no clear leader emerged. Each member, like the songs, was there to be part of the melting pot, creating a community of musicians that served the whole instead of themselves. They traded instruments, rotated positions, and shared vocal duties in a seamless way that evoked the true egalitarian ideals that folk music is based on. And let me say this: folk, in the pure sense of the word, is a stretch for this group. Instead, the use of folk in their name, besides being a little tongue in cheek, expresses the common thread that is the starting point for most of the styles they play or add their modern twists to.

With Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes), you could see it in his lyrics. His vivid use of imagery and thematic reach tied him into an old folk tradition, while his content (unless he was going biblical, which he did at times) pushed him forward into modernity. With Jim James (My Morning Jacket), it was the effects he used, whether it was his famously reverb-drenched vocals (which remain gorgeous, no matter how many times I hear them live) or the delay rings emanating from his guitar over a song that would only be country without it. In fact, the only one who recalled the past or a pure folk tradition was Matt Ward (M. Ward), who, for my money, was the show stopper. His husky vocals and spider-handed finger-picking rose him many a holler from the hometown crowd, and made a big fan out of me.

The show, running almost 3 hours in length, took us everywhere, from the bluegrassy “Man Named Truth,” to the My Morning Jacket-esque, “Magic Marker.” Each song came alive in the venue, invigorating what came up as short on the CD and proving beyond a shadow of a doubt why these men deserve the title of supergroup. And while that may still be a silly term and well deserving of your hesitancy, when it comes to a live show, these guys hold water. From the first note to the last, I was consistently impressed, better yet, amazed by how captivating they were. We all just sat there, seated until the encore, rapt and at attention. It felt like we were all a part of something, like Monsters of Folk's sense of community had been extended to us in the audience as well and we had accepted it. And we showed our appreciation by being silent during the songs and loud during the breaks.

After an encore that included “At Dawn” (!) and ended with “His Master’s Voice,” all that was left to us was the echo of an effect board, repeating a noise that sounded like someone had taunted a jaguar until it was pissed. It was the wake-up call that said we had to leave this cozy world and return to our lives. We had to make it on our own, without supergroups and fine acoustics. So I got up, made an “Oh my god” face at m’lady, and walked out into the cold, one up on everybody with other plans.