Bon Iver’s massive band wins over audience at the Orpheum
Copious volumes of ink have already been spilled chronicling the rapid ascent of Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon over the last four years from Eau Claire “every dude” to Billboard-charting star and Kanye West sidekick, so I’ll spare you an extensive back story. (The short version: Dude has heart broken, discovers killer falsetto, takes over indie music universe.) With the sophomore slump now safely averted and a backlash apparently nowhere in sight, it appears that Bon Iver is here to stay and ready to settle into the role of indie-band-made-good with graceful aplomb.
Admittedly, entering the second night of Bon Iver’s long sold-out stand at the Orpheum Theater comes with a bit of trepidation as to how the band’s new nine-man strong headcount would impact the proceedings. 100 minutes later, the audience left bowled over by Bon Iver’s evolution from fragile folk-rock outfit into bold orchestral-rock combo.
From the cascading riff of “Perth” that kicked off the show on through to the sing-along finale of “Skinny Love,” Vernon appeared at ease and firmly in command of his massive band. It helped that he was performing before a close-to-home crowd bursting at the seams with enthusiasm but reverent enough to avoid shouting out during quieter moments. Incredibly, given their massive size, none of the backing unit players’ parts felt superfluous. Drummer S. Carey gets the MVP award for providing stellar close harmonies throughout the night—particularly on the spine-tingling initial verse of “Towers”—but every instrumentalist left a stamp on the night at one point or another in a lineup that featured three brass players and three guitarists alongside a retinue of rotating instrumentalists.
The stage was packed, but Vernon remained a natural focal point both musically (his striking falsetto never failing to stand out no matter how many backing vocalists joined in) and visually (he appeared a good head taller than his bandmates). For all Vernon’s humbleness and self-effacement—and judging from his stage banter he still appears genuinely awed by his rapid ascent—he appeared poised and confident in the spotlight. The rare moments when Vernon let loose on lead guitar were particularly revelatory, showcasing a heretofore hidden knack for exposed-nerve solos on par with Neil Young. The live transformation of “Blood Bank” into a chugging and incendiary rocker proved just how pliable this band of dexterous musicians is, but not everything worked. A cover of Bjork’s “Who Is It?,” while an admirably bold choice, fell flat in execution. And not even a band this talented could turn the new age-y forgettable funeral dirge of “Michicant“ into a winner. These missteps constituted the entirety of the musical cracks in an otherwise flawless wall of sound erected by the band.
It’s rare for homegrown heroes from flyover country to make mainstream waves—rarer still when they don’t have to move away from the heartland to do so. By the end of the night, it was a mutual love fest between artist and audience, with Vernon giving shout outs to family in the crowd “for making me who I am” and talking up the Midwest as the best place on earth. “I just talked my new pal Chris over there into moving from Brooklyn to Eau Claire!”
