You can take two views on this gig, and not necessarily independently of each other. There is something about this admittedly magnificent venue that doesn’t quite suit a rock concert, even for that of a band of The Decemberists’ nature: it’s fully seated, and the front row is a good few feet from the stage. After all, this is a venue more traditionally inhabited by large orchestras and their upper-class onlookers, smiling pleasantly, nodding in understated appreciation and politely applauding between concertos.

Certainly for those further than a few rows back, this venue puts more than just a physical distance between the fans and the band. It positively dwarfs the mildly impressive support act, Land Of Talk, who visually and vocally acknowledge the fact. It’s a slightly uncomfortable audience to be in; it’s hard to imagine many Decemberists shows in which singer Colin Meloy has had the opportunity to comment, “you’re all so quiet!”, to a reception of nervous laughter. This place is just so damned posh, the audience just don’t know how loud they’re allowed to clap.

On the other hand, this is a rare opportunity to sit back and truly enjoy the music in appreciative silence. The Decemberists are a band you can do that with. And it’s worth mentioning that they are on top form tonight, performing a set featuring a handful of tracks from their recent release, The Crane Wife, along with several rare gems.

The Tain, while an unusual choice for an opening song at near enough 20 minutes long, goes down a treat. It’s a slow-burner of a track that progresses in distinct movements, perhaps in keeping with the venue’s classical traditions, and its surprise inclusion sets a precedent for the rest of the show. Apology Song from the 5 Songs EP follows, much to the delight of the more well-versed members of the audience, complete with a full prologue to the story of the song… and an epilogue to finish. Meloy, ever the storyteller, captivates the audience with each word.

Another highlight is Culling of the Fold, a song which the band are jokingly apologetic for, due to its theatrically murderous lyrics. (This of course doesn’t prevent Meloy from leaping from the stage and singing, nay snarling, the words into several bewildered audience members’ faces – if the venue didn’t bring the audience closer to the band, Meloy sure as hell brought himself closer to them.)

And it’s this kind of showmanship that, throughout, prevents this distinguished venue from making The Decemberists any less entertaining. This is a band who clearly really enjoy what they do, and the feeling is reciprocated by every last member of an awestruck audience.

It’s only when the band close their main set with a hushed rendition of After the Bombs that the audience are brought to their feet, demanding the encore. And although Colin Meloy’s solo performance of Kingdom of Spain briefly has everyone seated once more, the extraordinary accordion-fuelled Mariner’s Revenge Song brings them all back up again - not to mention spending the a good minute screaming as if they’re being swallowed by a whale at one point, by the band’s request.

With that, the Royal Festival Hall’s 10:30pm curfew brings the performance to an agonisingly early close. Given that the band no longer have a new album to promote, it’s perhaps surprising that we heard nothing from the first two LPs, but that misses the point somewhat. Tonight was a rare opportunity to sit back in silence and watch The Decemberists set themselves apart from other live acts: the unusual setlist only served to complement the occasion.

An outstanding performance for those who know the band well; perhaps not so for the late converts, but, well, they just don’t know how lucky they are.

Photos courtesy of Steven Bird

(0) comments - discuss in the forum