We all know the Bon Iver “legend”: Justin Vernon locked himself in a northwestern Wisconsin cabin to record what would be For Emma, Forever Ago. In late November he reemerged from the woods carrying a bag of golden potatoes, a car tire sized pumpkin and a turkey he had killed the night before with his falsetto. He proceeded to cook the most delicious Thanksgiving feast anyone in that corner of the world has ever tasted; creamy cheesy potato casserole, a tender and juicy turkey and a light rich pumpkin pie.
But seriously, Justin Vernon is one badass cook who knows how to entertain. His set at the 2008 Pitchfork Music Festival felt like an intimate family dinner. However, after the ambitious Bon Iver, Bon Iver, Vernon enlisted a 9-piece band to put on more elaborate dinner parties. So in the hipster Dave Matthew Band atmosphere of Troutdale, OR, Bon Iver served many traveling Portlandites a Thanksgiving feast that at times was too ornate, at times was tear-jerkingly good, and overall, was way too much food.
I have a strong aversion to large backing bands comprised of hired guns; it feels like I’m watching an orchestra rather than a rock-n-roll band. And for the first third of Bon Iver’s set, my large-mass-of-hired-guns fear was justified. It’s not that they didn’t sound good (they did); it’s just that they lost all rock-n-roll aesthetic. These crunchy-granola hired guns had scrapped Vernon’s downhome fatty potato casserole sound in favor of sweet potatoes garnished with roasted almonds on a bed of collard greens, aka the opposite of rock-n-roll. Instead of losing their shit at “Perth’s” creamy cheesy coda, the band’s ornate collard greens sound was mechanical. The extended freakouts in songs to come were too precise, predictable and tasted bland. They were trying too hard to dress up their meal rather than embracing their charming fatty Midwestern roots.
However, everything changed when Bon Iver served the turkey at the end of “Creature Fear”; Vernon fucked being healthy and lost his shit. His band followed suit, adding savory cranberry pear and bleu cheese topping. Colin Stetson was the bleu cheese, opening “Hinnom, TX,” with a biting but savory bass sax solo that jumped between arpeggiated flurries and primal screeches. This set the mood for a haunting contrast between Vernon’s low baritone and the rest of the band’s cranberry falsettos. "Hinnom, TX" sputtered into the swirling and beautiful “Wash,” where Vernon’s unrestrained tender turkey voice felt naked, jumping between his falsetto and baritone. I took one bite and lost my shit: I started crying my eyes out (fitting because Vernon made me think crying to music was cool). Something about taking the second verse down an octave just destroyed me (similar to how he played with his range on the solo Beth/Rest). Other highlights that followed was a hard-hitting rendition of “Blood Bank,” and the end of “Wolves (Act I and II)” where the entire crowd screamed “what might have been lost” over and over again while Colin Stetson sat on a dub-step esc bass pedal.
This isn't the best quality, but it give you an idea...
The problem was by the time Vernon brought out his “Skinny Love” pumpkin pie for the encore, everyone was already stuffed. Simply put, they played way too many songs, literally performing every good song he had ever written as well as an unnecessary and boring cover of Dylan’s “With God on Our Side.” It was exhausting for the crowd and for the band; they got sloppy near the end and I hit a point where I was waiting for him to finish playing.
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