The Decemberists are adorable. Everything about them is adorable. The lead singer Colin Meloy has too-big glasses that slide down his sweaty nose when he rocks out. Jenny Conlee, the piano player, has an endearing overbite. John Moen, the drummer, has a look that prompts several audience members point at him and say: "that guy looks so much like so-and-so's dad." The scrumptious blonde fiddler Sara Watkins is dressed all in black and has pink cheeks and angelic, mussed curls.
Even when they sing songs about infanticide, this band is damn cute.
Beloved by a national army known as hipsters, the six-piece came to Sound Academy on Tuesday, the night the blizzard-that-wasn't gusted into Toronto. In the summer months, buses take crowds right to the door of Sound Academy, but on this windy, frozen night, the TTC deposited fans at a bus stop fifteen minutes away. No matter. With used wool pea coats buttoned over plaid shirts and skinny jeans, Toronto's hipster hordes leaned into the wind and brought their love and hope to a giant room drenched with purple light and overpriced beer.
"I am hoping for a transcendent musical experience," said Brian Kuchar, 26, an articling student at a law firm in Toronto. "Just being in the same room as them; I mean, they're a band for smart people, for intellectuals. They make references to Infinite Jest and Shakespeare."
His friend, Dave Migicovski, a 26-year-old screenwriter, agreed.
"They are tuneful. They are epic. Colin likes Nietzsche. But they don't put on airs."
On this evening, Mr. Kuchar was wearing a sweater. "My plaid is in the wash."
The Decemberists started their show with the first shot of ironic, dry-wit repartee that the lead singer relied on all night to keep the audience in thrall. "Hello, Torontans," said Mr. Meloy, purposefully mispronouncing the city's name, raising his eyebrows above his big, dark rimmed glasses and grinning. The audience howled. Later, he told the crowd he loved playing Sound Academy because a tourist shop nearby sold great coffee cups. "They have these awesome mugs," he said. The crowd hooted. "You all know what I mean about the mugs." The crowd went bananas. Perhaps it was hipster morse code. Whatever the case, I wasn't receiving, so I asked around for help.
"But they're not hip," said Dan Shilensky and Ian Brasg, two University of Toronto med students in their twenties. "Okay, maybe their clothes are, but, no, no, no. To be hip is to play the opposite game. It's to ride a bike when you can ride a BMW. It's to shop Value Village when you can afford Tom Ford. It's playacting. These guys are authentic," Mr. Brasg said, intensely. "They recorded this album in a barn. They have an accordion on stage. They're legitimately weird. It's not the band's fault that the hipsters love them."
Mr. Shilensky admitted to buying his knitted wool vest at Value Village. "But here's the thing: I love this vest."
"That's why he's not a hipster either," Mr. Brasg added. "Hipsters are apathetic about everything except apathy."
The majority of the show drew on songs from the new album, The King Is Dead. Released two weeks ago, it's already attained commercial success, reaching No. 10 on the Billboard charts.
"This album is a more purely folk-rock experience," explained David Gaudet, 28, a content co-ordinator for TVO. "They're moving away from rock operas. And REM totally helped them out, so you can totally feel that influence."
During The Mariner's Revenge Song, about a whale swallowing sailors, Mr. Meloy directed the entire audience to sit down and hum along, and then rise up and jump around for the rest of the song. It was a rare moment of collective motion in an otherwise static, beer-can-clutching crowd.
In the back, bartender Matthew White, 33, and Robin Fisher, 33, a set decorator, danced in an approach they called "freestyle feeling it." Clad in black, the pair twisted and gyrated, pirouetting in the air.
"I love this song!" Mr. White said, windmilling his arms.
"People are so afraid of being uncool at these concerts!" said Ms. Fisher. "But this music is infectious. I can't stop."
Just then, Cass Knihnisky, a 22-year-old with a pixie haircut and black-and-white cardigan emerged from the crowd, frowning.
"I just tried to get everyone dancing and they all glared at me," said Ms. Knihnisky, an international development student at the University of Guelph.
"It's a Toronto thing," said Mr. White. "Come dance with us."
Special to The Globe and Mail