January 21, 2006- The El Rey Theatre, Los Angeles, CA

    There is nothing that I can say about Colin Meloy in writing that could possibly embody the charismatic, brilliant, endearing, witty essence of this man. He defies description. For those of you who were not fortunate enough to catch him at the El Rey that fateful Saturday night, I shall attempt unreservedly to do him justice. As I understand that some are not familiar with Colin, he is the lead singer of the whimsical Decemberists of Portland, Oregon. Although they have recently parted from their independent label, Kill Rock Stars, to join the ranks of Radiohead under the Capitol label. After the successful release of their last KRS album, Picaresque, the Decemberists toured the United States a few times around, and finally Colin decided to grace about 10 American cities with a solo mini-tour. Once, a few years ago, Meloy took it upon himself to cover a bevy of Morrissey songs. So what was the fine Mr. Meloy going to cover tonight? What antics would be unveiled before our eager eyes?
    The curtain might as well have parted for the unabashed rocker as he positioned himself alongside a red-clothed table. Upon the table sat a theatrical skull, a small ship, a glass of red wine (from which our hero sipped throughout his performance), and a small toy sheep. Each of these items had names (save for the wine), and we were presented with the honor of naming the sheep (the crowd rejected both ‘Jessica’ and ‘Max’ for the neutral ‘Erik with a K’). This was one of the ongoing gimmicks that resurfaced throughout the quirky little concert. He began with a few of his newer Decemberists tunes, playing crowd-darlings like “The Engine Driver,” and “The Bus Mall.” We heartily joined his singing and he encouraged us to act as though we were all around a huge campfire, enjoying one another’s company and lapping up every chord he could strum.
    “I am now going to move away from the prostitution songs, and more into the dead baby songs,” he announced assertively as he opened “Leslie Ann Levine,” and we giggled in energized appreciation, and thus was the dynamic between the artist and the audience. He was humbly stellar, and each song was as rich as if the band had been there cushioning his guitar with their vibrant instrumentation. On “Los Angeles, I’m Yours,” (far and away the crowd’s favorite), during the instrumental bridge, we assumed the rolls of the musicians and buzzed along cheerfully over his guitar chords. This clearly tickled Colin, as he stood, flummoxed, desperately seeking the lyrics to the next verse. We laughed heartily. He explained to us that artists usually did tours like this to display an array of their finest work, and he informed us that he didn’t find it fair to leave out one’s worst songs. Without further hesitation, he broke into what he assured us was his worst song, “Dracula’s Daughter” (I can’t say that I disagreed, though it was charmingly terrible). He assured us that it had evolved into something finer, and we were treated to one of his new songs. He also played a song that he had covered by the English folk singer Shirley Collins, boasting that he had hand-folded 300 EPs entitled Colin Meloy Sings Shirley Collins, in an effort to assuage his “sell-out-itis,” as he called it.
    No one wanted the dream to end, but he wound the concert down to a close with the sweepingly romantic and lovely “California One/Youth and Beauty Brigade.” It was such a thrill to hear him perform that song live, knowing the road of which he sang was so thrillingly close. The encore brought us two more songs and a refilled glass of wine, and we roared with appreciation. From his general attentiveness to us to his intellectually stimulating lyrics, the crowd fell once again for Colin Meloy that night. We were his youth and beauty brigade, his wretched petticoat-sporting chimbley sweeps, all wide-eyed and joyful, thankful. Colin Meloy is a character for the ages, and in his presence, we all become characters too, in his grand classic novel that he writes with his amazing music.

-Christina Gubala