Anne WidjajaVerdict: Death Cab for Cutie @ The Enmore
August 28th 2008 14:20
The evening began with a very ordinary performance by support band An Horse. Admittedly they do have a few catchy tunes, but so do every other myspace band who rely on an 'original' formula of toneless, lyrically spoken vocals and the repetition of a three chord guitar riff. Their set felt like the same song on repeat, and sounded a lot like every other song you've ever heard by that fleetingly popular indie band that you've now forgotten about, except for when you go to skip their tracks on itunes. Like their performance wasn’t dull enough, their stage set - which was death cab's set covered in black sheets - made it feel like an underwhelming rehearsal.
After they finished up and the lights finally dimmed, cuing Death Cab's entrance, I was a tad disorientated. This may be because of An Horse, or because I was not used to being seated so far from the stage (in the second back row!). But it certainly did not help that as the band came on, Alas! I could not find frontman Ben Gibbard! I was still cheering as the band began to play, in anticipation of his entrance. The Ben Gibbard I was waiting for was chubby, wore big glasses and had an intimidating cool aura of nerdy angst that I thought would permeate through the band’s performance. Boy, was I wrong. The guy that walked into the spotlight was excited, tall, skinny and not wearing big glasses. I thought he was one of those invisible, yet rather integral 'fifth' band members, temporarily warming Gibbard’s space. I didn't realise he was Gibbard until he started singing in Gibbard’s signature, cutsie, sing-speak voice, during the first verse of a sweeping rendition of Bixby Canyon Bridge. I almost fell out of my seat due to disbelief, excitement and a rigorous bout of simultaneous head/foot tapping which would continue throughout the entire show.
The band's performance was not only a stellar musically, but it was also highly entertaining. Gibbard danced or rather shuffled during every song, kinda like a crab; guitarist Chris Walla did a variation of the same moves but backwards and forwards and I didn’t notice what bassist Nick Harmer was doing because he played the majority of the set with his back towards the audience, like he was making sexual advances towards the drum kit. Yet despite their awkward expression of enthusiasm, it made every song that fell rather flat on record (like Narrow Stairs' ‘Grapevine Fires’, and well most of We Have the Facts and are Voting Yes) come alive. The band’s warmth was felt all the way to the back row and the warmest and most excitable was by far Gibbard. Somehow, the band transformed mellow pop gems into a rock worthy performance. Like single ‘I Will Possess Your Heart’ which really proved why all eight minutes were included in the album. The lengthy intro built up an electric atmosphere and was met with many appreciative shouts from the audience who relayed back every creepy verse.
Their set consisted of Narrow Stairs minus a few tracks, and mostly consisting of old favourites like the popular gloomy acoustic ballad 'I Will Follow You Into The Dark' and ‘Soul Meets Body’ from Plans, ‘Title and Registration’ from Transatlanticism and quite a few songs from the underrated lyrical genius that is The Photo Album. But by far it was the songs from Plans and Narrow Stairs that were the most instrumentally suited for a smashing live set. After a thundering response to the end of the final song ‘Marching Bands of Manhattan’ followed by a repeated chanting of ‘Death Cab’ and stomping, which came to a peak and faded about three times, the band returned for a lengthy encore. They finished with a beautiful performance of the title track from album Transatlanticism. Although most of the upbeat tracks were sped up and thrashed out, this was slowed down and dragged out beautifully. Starting with gentle, emphatic piano chords Gibbard crooned the verses to a spellbound audience. The crescendo in the end of the song was played so heartedly, particularly by the drummer who really went at those drums like there was no tomorrow, you couldn’t help but sway and bop in time to the atmospheric, echoing melody. And then that was it. After a bitter sweet, poetic ending, the band modestly thanked the audience and exited to a standing ovation. My homely expectations and I were blown away. Death Cab for Cutie, the little indie band that could, made me realise why they inspired, heck, initially defined my love for music.
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