D.L. Anderson
Singer-songwriter Justin Vernon, who performs under the nom de tune Bon Iver.
Dallas The tears began flowing midway through Bon Iver's set Monday night.
They said what no catalog of euphoric adjectives ever really could.
The woman next to me sat enraptured and sobbing quietly, as the song Michicant simply overwhelmed her. It wasn't exactly shades of Beatlemania, but in this post-ironic age of hip detachment, it might as well have been.
From the forceful opening notes of Perth to the staggering rendition of the weirdly divisive Beth/Rest and every delicate inflection point in between, Wisconsin-based singer-songwriter Justin Vernon frankly dazzled the sold-out Winspear Opera House over the course of 90 minutes. (Not that it would've taken much; to say the Winspear was a friendly room for Bon Iver would be understating it.)
Filling that grand, supple, acoustically rich space was no small task: Vernon, alternating between acoustic and electric guitar, was backed by a tightly knit octet, complete with bass sax, French horn and two (!) drum kits. In an evening rife with effortless accomplishments, the most impressive might've been this: All those musicians could, when called upon, deliver either a full-bore assault or deeply textured, barely-there shadows without so much as a missed cue or false note.
It's an instrumental reflection of Vernon's wondrously nuanced voice, sliding as it does from a heartbreaking falsetto (reminiscent of Antony Hegarty's in spots) to a soothing rumble.
Indeed, Bon Iver, often pegged as sensitive acousti-folk for the Urban Outfitters crowd, is more complicated than its slender catalog might suggest.
Although Vernon made his name with 2008's wintry, emotionally raw For Emma, Forever Ago, the textures of his second, eponymous album (released earlier this year) have broadened and deepened his musical vocabulary (not to mention his occasional collaborations with Kanye West). That ability to slide from the ghostly electronic feel of Hinnom, TX, which began with a breathtaking violin solo, to the Bruce Hornsby-flavored groove of Beth/Rest speaks to Vernon's own restless nature. His is music built around moods more than concrete ideas; many of Vernon's lyrics flit by in an elliptical haze.
There's also a perfectionist at play, one who deeply loves what he's doing for a living (more than once, Vernon would close his eyes and briefly "conduct" the band). "Music is a powerful thing," Vernon said, near the night's conclusion. "Music has saved all of us up here, I know that." More than a few of those fans in attendance, silently weeping or shouting out adulation, might be inclined to agree.
The venue was as much of a star as Bon Iver. Although the Winspear has hosted the odd rock concert here and there, I sincerely hope they dive into the already crowded field of DFW venues and pursue more artists in this vein, the sort of acts who deserve to really and truly be heard, rather than swallowed up by spaces where acoustics are often an afterthought.
There were revelatory moments where you could practically feel the silence, a palpable hush gripping the room. Bon Iver's music is itself the kind you can grab hold of, get lost in and let wash over you. It's a finely calibrated thing, pitched between intimacy and bombast; Vernon is keenly aware when to ramp up the drama.
Describing Bon Iver's performance at the Winspear as a "tour de force" almost seems too small a phrase to really do justice to what took place. A nearly flawless coupling of performer and venue, certainly. Guaranteed to be one of, if not the, best show of 2011, clearly. In the end, it was one man's vision, fully and completely realized with no trace of compromise. A true excavation of the soul, placed before the masses and offered up to take from it what they will.
Vernon's girlfriend, the accomplished-in-her-own-right Canadian troubadour Kathleen Edwards, did a spectacular job setting the scene, armed with little more than her evocative alto, a pair of backing musicians and a handful of sharply observed songs. Reaching back to her early work with tracks like Mercury (which provided an unintentional moment of comedy, when an audience member nearly derailed her pensive introduction), Edwards also showcased a few cuts -- Wapusk, Change the Sheets -- from her forthcoming Vernon-produced LP Voyageur, due out in early 2012.
Her thrilling, 50-minute set was capped with a vivid cover of the Flaming Lips' Feeling Yourself Disintegrate, which proved to be an all-too-fitting metaphor for what was about to transpire.
