Brightest Young Things

For those that have never been to The Birchmere for a concert, the setting is hard to ignore in the context of a rocking guitar-based show. For those of you who have never sat through a band playing three of its albums in their entirety, the logistics of doing so are equally hard to ignore.

The hall has filled it’s rows of long dinner tables with an aging crowd, eager to down the prime rib special, sip a glass of wine and enjoy one of their favorite albums of younger days, from start to finish. (For the record, I also had the prime rib. It came with a twice-baked potato, so how could I resist?) Some of the women have decked out in new wave style skirts and kicky boots, while many others sport their usual Sunday suburban attire. The man next to me is wearing a 1988 tour t-shirt signed (and personalized) by all of the band members. Another gentleman seated in the front row directly below The Church’s Steve Kilbey will shed his sweatshirt late in the evening to show off a “Starfish” t-shirt as well. An abundance of black leather jackets and white tennis shoes seems to be the male dress code. I take all of this in while trying not to be distracted by the constant flurry of servers necessary for a meal dependent operation like this.

The band quickly walks out to the island of a stage, and I immediately sense how much they prefer the theater setting they are used to. The entire first set (yes, there are THREE sets, all with a long intermission AND a full wardrobe change) is marred by the constant flittering of guitar techs and stage managers. I can’t think of two minutes that pass without someone, other than the band, on stage changing guitars or working wires. The lack of any “wings” off stage make it so that none of them can hide, but rather hunch down behind the amps and racks of gear until needed again.

It proves to be an omen for the delivery of our first album: “untitled #23.”

The Church has always been about a mass of contradictions and contrast in styles, like many of the very best bands. Kilbey stands front and center, the arty poet. Flanked by the more stoic Peter Koppes, and his Floydian riffs giving David Gilmour a run for his money, and the scruffy pirate that is Marty Wilson-Piper, unafraid to jangle or screech and love the Beatles while not aping them. The thing that always pulled them together, for me, was that Kilbey was clearly the most limited singer and player of the bunch – yet had the most distinctive voice, both to the ear and on the page – so they had the good sense to highlight him while surrounding his severely reduced delivery with guitar fireworks at every turn. There also hasn’t ever been a band where two more talented guitarists do a better job of staying out of one another’s way. Wilson-Piper is more likely to deliver the builds and swirls but Koppes ability to pick out melodic licks is what makes something like “Under The Milky Way” so much more than a 12-string acoustic strummed ballad.

However, these qualities are dosed out in limited quantities on the most recent material. Kilbey has obviously grown more comfortable with testing his range and is determined to really belt it out and play a messiah figure on stage. His pipes are up to the task, but his leather pants stage stomping usually results in his compulsion to fix his hair after every fist pump.

On “Pangaea” it turns into a bit of a misty mess, but that same bravado pays off in spades when the band spark to life for the riffy and rowdy “Space Saviour.” Unfortunately, the lasting memory is of the bloated mess that is “Anchorage,” with the stage filled with an all hands on deck approach, including the stage manager on bass and the band’s manager all dolled up and singing backing vocals.

It would be a fun finish to the evening (for the band, the song prevents that from being the case for the audience) but we’ve still got two full albums to go.

After an achingly long break, we are rewarded with new outfits (no leather pants!) and the restraint of their mid-period work. The fussiness of “untitled #23” gives way to the riff driven “priest=aura.” Kilbey’s prose is given more room, but tighter editing, and his singing keeps confidently to two notes (except the brilliant pop surge of “Feel.”) His snarl and yearning mix on “Ripple” has never sounded better.

It is the band’s favorite record, and it is easy to see why – it is a gem of a guitar workout. Koppes filters in textures so divine, while Wilson-Piper takes a star turn. It is here, in the guts of the album, that you can truly appreciate the dynamics of the group. Kilbey fills in most of the riffs via his simple bass playing while the other two seek to impress, often in boiling their playing down to the rudimentary elements. Wilson-Piper’s tremelo work weeps and claws while the walls reverberate with Koppes chopped licks. If every kid in Australia that picks up a six-string doesn’t worship these two, than there truly is no justice in the outback.

The challenge of this planned evening becomes apparent when the band returns (after another very long break and change of clothes) for “Starfish.” The crowd has hung in there, in hopes of hearing this beloved disc, and the memories it holds for them, but there is a catch. The sequencing requires that the mega hit, “Under The Milky Way,” is quickly disposed of, falling second on the album as it does. The bigger issue is that it appears as if the band have held this record as a ransom of sorts in order to have the opportunity to play “priest=aura” straight through. It is not a completely perfunctory performance, but the same enthusiasm isn’t on display.

In the end, even with the wondrous bleating riff of “Reptile” bringing us back to life, it has been a long night - for both band and audience.

I am left wondering about this whole thing. The Church seem to be a band that has been waiting for someone to certify it’s legendary status, and tiring of the wait, set about writing the story themselves.

Every seat at the show was covered with an 8 page glossy program with detailed notes on each release (which was a nice touch) and exhaustive credits on every aspect of the tour and their career as a whole (which bordered on overkill.)

The most striking part was a gorgeous essay that serves as an introduction to the evening. Describing in great gushing detail not only the sequence of events - but rather the most flattering critique of the music within and its creative inspiration. It is so wonderful that I mentally note that every band should be so lucky to have had such a shining review to reprint. I make my way down to the credit line to see what sterling publication this has been lifted from - only to catch that is has been penned by none other than Marty Wilson-Piper himself.

Steve Kilbey’s earlier declaration from the stage to “trust me, we aren’t better than we think we are” suddenly seems all too profound.

Previously in Live DC:

• 5/22: LiveDC: Spirit Animal @ Red Palace
• 5/22: LiveDC: Astra Via @ Black Cat
• 5/22: LiveDC: Father John Misty @ Rock & Roll Hotel
• 5/22: LiveDC: Drive-By Truckers and Lucinda Williams @ Merriweather
• 5/22: Photos: Summer Camp takes the "Ladies of Town" Drag Show
• 5/22: LiveDC: Penguin Prison & Class Actress @ RNR Hotel
• 5/21: LiveDC: James Morrison @ 930 Club
• 5/21: Photos: Que Sera L'Anniversaire @ Napoleon
• 5/21: LiveDC: La Sera/ Beach Week @ Red Palace
• 5/21: LiveDC: The Black Keys & Arctic Monkeys @ Merriweather Post Pavilion