There are situations in life when you just can't quite find the right word to explain how you feel. And then there are situations when you can't quite find the right words. Or indeed any words. It's as if someone has switched off the language component in your brain. Communication becomes a question of signals, given out by your body that has suddenly had to adapt to a world without speech. Your eyelids spread wide, the whites gleam, the pupils dilate. Beads of sweat glisten on your temples. Your mouth muscles relax, loosen, drop. Your heart seems to stop. And start. And quicken. It thumps hard, throwing blood to the furthest reaches of the body. And all this happens in the fraction of the time that it has taken for me to write these words, and for you to read them. I am writing this because, quite frankly, I am of the opinion that whatever I write will be unable to describe adequately the sensation of a Bon Iver concert. In fact, it won't even get close. I'm going to give it a go though, because people deserve to know about this music. And Justin Vernon and his band deserve to know how good they are live. This won't be a chronological run-through of the set. And it probably won't be very structured. But it may, just may, succeed in conveying how good, how incredibly good, Bon Iver is live. Et c'est parti...
La Maroquinerie, a rather small club somewhere in the 20th arrondissment of Paris, is intimate. Arranged like a miniature amphitheatre, it brings the majority of the audience within almost touching distance of the stage. Certainly within spitting distance. Opening tonight, accompanied by nothing but a guitar, is Vermont native Anaïs Mitchell. Inviting the crowd to remain seated on the floor, as after all, "this is folk", she launches into some quite beautiful songs. First off is 'Cosmic American' (From her 2004 album 'Hymns for the Exiled'), a dexterously finger-picked little ditty. What really strikes the listener though is her voice. From reviews that I've read of her albums, it seems to be a bit of a love/hate thing. Some have pitched her close to Joanna Newsom; in my opinion, she doesn't have that sickly sweet, kooky voice that utterly put me off Newsom's stuff. She has a very good range and live, she modulates it, while at the same time wavering towards and away from the microphone, creating the effect of a tremolo bar being pulled. Her set is close, a little quirky and often heart-breakingly beautiful and the crowd quickly warms to her sincere and sweet character. Whilst playing, her legs twitch and spasm, as if she is keeping time not with her foot but with her knee-cap. 'Why do we build a Wall' is played too; a track from a musical theatre piece that she has written ('Hadestown'), which is based on the Orpheus myth, it demonstrates an impressive writing talent. She also plays a couple of songs from her latest album, 'The Brightness'. This includes 'Your Fonder Heart', a track which displays her knack for interesting imagery: "I wanna see you half-lit, in the half-light/laughing with the whites of your dark eyes/shining darkly." Unsurprisingly, considering that Anaïs is all alone on the stage, her songs take on a very stripped-back sound, unlike the recorded versions which are often fuller, supported by multiple guitars, keyboards and backing vocals.
For Bon Iver, however, the situation is often reversed. Taking songs that are deeply personal, that display a serene hibernation and solitude, and which were individually recorded with old equipment and vintage instruments, the live versions are altogether different beasts. And yet that intimate quality, that je ne sais quoi that made 'For Emma, Forever Ago' such a wonderful release, is not lost in its live, augmented form. "Lump Sum" begins with an extended four-part harmony intro, pitch-perfect and jaw-droppingly gorgeous. It was a moment that cannot have failed to send those troublesome hairs on the back of the audience's necks into the stratosphere. The audience came for Justin's individual, often sparse songs of desolation and isolation. What they get, more often than not, is transformation. Songs, like 'Flume', begin quietly, slowly, gradually, often comprising a guitar and Justin's voice. A single piercing guitar note crescendos out of the calm, before dying back down. 'Blindsided' also remains wonderfully restrained, with gentle, considered vocals echoing in the small room. A soft guitar gently strums alongside, and twinkling, sparse keys join in. A rhythmic, simple drumbeat finally appears. Some of the audience is swaying. In the vocal-break, Justin plays a delicate solo, harmonic notes shimmering in the darkness. The song becomes a swirl of harmonies, melodies, but also silences, which are always judged perfectly. Silences that are often broken by nothing more than Justin's tortured, handsome falsetto.
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'Creature Fear' and 'Team' (two separate tracks on the album) become one epic song live; taking the opportunity to let loose their wilder side, the band throw themselves into the fill and Justin throws himself about his corner of the stage. The audience can sense it building. Fingers are loosened. Band members watch each other. Lips are licked in anticipation. The insistent snare drum beat, delivered by Sean, does not stop. His arm looks like it should drop off at any moment. The intensity builds. So does the noise. The safety is off. Crashes of strangled feedback leap from Justin's guitar. The bass pops and yelps. The song detonates, spraying sound that spreads out in all directions. And then, as if reborn, the song comes back. Order and structure return. Two of the lesser-known album tracks become in their live form exhilarating explosions of noise, sending the adrenal gland into overtime. The noise that the band succeed in producing is astounding. Every track elicits a reaction from the audience that leaves those on-stage seemingly flabbergasted. On one track, the audience even becomes part of the band, contributing the 'what might have been lost' refrain to 'Wolves' and yelling their hearts out at the appropriate moment.
Two new tracks are played: 'Blood Bank', a song about 'being stuck in the snow' hints at a bluesy, broader sound, displaying energy and not a little rock, right from the very beginning. By this moment, the crowd are really ready to move a bit, even if the room is so packed that said movement entails little more than bouncing off alternate neighbours. It's the sort of song that you would write when not isolated in a cabin, in the middle of Wisconsin, in the middle of winter. It is still a Bon Iver song through and through, and is deeply promising for whatever Justin has in mind for his next release. The other new track, 'Babys' (the spelling is intentional; an internet search should clear things up if you want to know) is different. A repeated piano-chord riff builds. It's delicate, sweet, and the keys ring out. Echoes start to gather, forming behind the simple melody. Crescendos. Diminuendos. The song develops a percussive tick, like an insect scampering across the back of your mind, inescapable yet almost imperceivable. Sounds merge into one another, as form is exchanged for free-form. From simple beginnings, the song has become an ethereal collage. Things stop. Sounds continue. And fade. It is so unlike 'Blood Bank' as to be from a different planet, let alone from the same musicians. And it is stunning.
'Re:stacks' finishes the main body of the set. Justin sits alone with his guitar, his band-mates having left the stage. The Wisconsin isolation is embraced once again. The room is deathly quiet. The speaker fuzz is audible. It is the calm after the storm. It is the exquisite denouement to ninety minutes of sonic perfection. Except that it is not. Justin and the band are pulled back to the warm embrace of an audience that does not want to leave. Music this good should have no end. But it does, eventually, after the second encore. The repertoire has been exhausted. Covers have come and gone. Mike, the guitarist, has taken centre-stage for a rendition of Graham Nash's 'Simple Man'. Anaïs has stepped back on-stage for a version of Sarah Siskind's 'Lovin's for Fools', all five participants gathered around a single microphone.
Usually, I'm reluctant to give a perfect-ten. Perfection is something that lies just beyond the next hill, just over the horizon, just out of reach. Or so I thought. Because, for a little bit more than two hours, in a small club in the 20th arrondissement of Paris, a couple of hundred people experienced perfection. Uplifting, bewitching, beautiful perfection.
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