The King Is Dead

The Decemberists - The King Is Dead

released 17 January 2011 on Rough Trade

You could make a convincing case for The Decemberists being the most consistent band of the 21st Century so far. The King Is Dead is their sixth full-length LP, the latest in a run of uninterrupted quality which began with Castaways and Cutouts in 2002. Over the course of their career, they’ve seemed more than content to plough their own furrow in the margins, slowly accumulating fans and sales through word of mouth and good, old-fashioned first-rate songwriting. Upon listening to more recent Decemberists records, the most striking features are the often long, epic tracks and the meandering stories told. Colin Meloy knows how to spin a yarn, and his third-person tales of subterfuge and murder are regularly more compelling than even the most gripping crime novel. This trend reached its natural conclusion in 2009 withThe Hazards of Love; a prog-rock opera of sorts, where a single tale was told over the course of the album, featuring multiple characters and repeated riffs throughout.

The Hazards of Love was so rich and complex, and had so many layers of intrigue, that it still feels as if it hasn’t fully revealed all its charms; every listen provides something new. This brings about the rather unusual position of the world maybe not yet requiring a new Decemberists record. It may be a deliberate move away from the ideas that underpinned The Hazards of Love, but The King Is Dead is as different to its predecessor as it’s possible to be while still remaining very much a Decemberists record.

Those enormous opuses? Gone: only one track on The King Is Dead clocks in at over five minutes - in fact, the whole album barely breaks the forty minute mark. Those enveloping third-person narratives? Not quite gone, but there’s a definite lyrical shift towards more impenetrable first-person tales.

Initially, these changes may appear worrying - have The Decemberists lost what made them so distinctive? It depends on how you look at it; it may not bear their most striking hallmarks, but it’s still a marvellous batch of songs. Shorn of lofty concepts, the band are able to relax into their music more, and there’s a much more pastoral undertone here. Folk singer Gillian Welch joins the quintet for lead single, Down By The Water, and is a revelation, her harmonies lifting an already fantastic song to an even higher level, much like Emmylou Harris did on Bright Eyes’ I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning.

The Decemberists display a more prevalent Americana influence throughout The King Is Dead; strong harmonies are pushed to the fore and the overall result isn’t all that dissimilar to what Midlake achieved withThe Trials of Van Occupanther. The lyrical change of direction happily hasn’t blunted Meloy’s verbal sharpness; the passage where he tenderly intones, “You were waking/The day was breaking/A panoply of song” in June Hymn is enormously affecting. This restraint is a recurring theme of the album, which truly allows the melodies to shine. And what melodies they are! The Decemberists have an innate gift for creating snippets and phrases that burrow their way into your subconscious and surface at the most unexpected times. The best example of this is the simply gorgeous January Hymn: an acoustic-led ballad with a comforting, reassuring warmth.

It’s not all campfire sing-alongs though. Rox in the Box is a rollicking tune with a dark, brooding undercurrent, while This Is Why We Fight features a rumbling rhythm and a chorus with real bite. There are minor quibbles - opener Don’t Carry It All is a little one-dimensional and All Arise! sails close to ambling AOR - but The King Is Dead remains a highly recommended collection of songs. It’s laudable that The Decemberists are still prepared to try something different, still prepared to break away from what they’re known for. There’s a tiny concern that they’ve lost something which set them apart from the pack, but as long as they’re still capable of writing such strong material, they’ll retain their deserved reputation.

The Best of the Decade: 10-1

I've decided to run down my Top 50 albums of the decade that's just passed. I love a list as much as anyone (in fact, probably more) and it was something to focus on in the dearth of new music post-Christmas. Some of the paragraphs are in the style of press releases, some attempt to put into words what makes an album so special, others have a personal experience that make them important to me and any could have spelling and grammar mistakes. It really was a case of go with what you feel on this one...

1: The Dears - No Cities Left (Bella Union/2003)

Maybe not an obvious choice but one I’m more than willing to stand by. Occasionally part of a song is fantastic and will stop you in your tracks, on rarer occasions it’s an entire song which is truly exceptional, but then there’s that time where an album catches you in the right place at the right time and truly floors you. The Dears never really captured the imagination of the UK; frequently being judged as inferior to the similar-sounding Blur or The Smiths. However, No Cities Left is simply magical from start to finish. This is a sound of a band putting their blood, sweat and tears into a record and is surely their creative peak. Head Dear Murray Lightburn croons his way through twelve tracks that range from the beautiful and timid to the all-out crunching riffs and wall of guitars of Lost in the Plot. It’s not difficult to see where the Smiths comparisons come from, as Lightburn does his best Morrissey impression on The Second Part (“It rained all day/I don’t… have a raincoat… of my own”) but this record is far more than the sum of its influences. 22: The Death of All the Romance charts the heartbreaking end of a relationship and pours salt into its still-raw wounds, Expect the Worst/’Cos She’s a Tourist takes in pizzicato string quartets before melding them to dream-like woozy pop and Pinned Together, Falling Apart begins in what is apparently an explosion in a drum factory. Startingly ambitious, never dull and far, far better than ever given credit for, No Cities Left is a treat for the ears and should be investigated further by everyone, me included. It always offers something new on each listen, it really does run that deep. Forget everything else you may know of The Dears or may have heard since, No Cities Left stands alone as true genius, a masterpiece, a perfect example of why music is so loved and, undoubtedly, the finest record of this past decade.

2: Radiohead: In Rainbows (self-released/2007)

What with all the hoopla surrounding the “honesty box” method of payment and means of distribution for In Rainbows, it’s surprising the music got a look in at all. Radiohead being Radiohead, however, had an ace up their sleeve and had put together their best album of a long and distinguished career. The Bends is too straightforward, OK Computer often leaves me cold, but In Rainbows is the definitive Radiohead record, combining the rock of their 1990s work with the experimentalism of Kid A. From the scattergun drums of opening track, 15 Step, it’s clear this is no ordinary record. Thom Yorke’s lyrics may be a collection of half-phrases, idioms and proverbs but here it suits the nature of the music to perfection. Bodysnatchers is the finest straight-up rock song Radiohead ever wrote, and Nude is curiously uplifting and deeply affecting with its backwards sections. Whilst All I Need displays vulnerability and a glimpse into Radiohead’s world, Jigsaw Falling Into Place is the star of the show, morphing from claustrophobic riffs into a loose but thrilling track. It’s interesting to note that for all their concepts, patterns and tricks, the career-defining Radiohead album is the one where they simply wrote a collection of indisputably amazing songs.

3: The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love (Rough Trade/2009)

It shouldn’t work: in the age of single-track downloads and short attention spans, The Decemberists release a concept album with a complex narrative arc, repeated themes and no gaps between the tracks. It shouldn’t work, but my word, it most certainly does. From an unremarkable beginning, The Hazards of Love builds and builds into something truly extraordinary and unrelenting. When you think the music can’t build any more, in comes a riff, a vocal, a drum fill or all three to confound your expectations. In typical Decemberists’ fashion, the lyrical themes fixate on death but there’s loss, regret and haunting thrown into the mix here too. The Rake’s Song tells of a man’s decision to murder his offspring following the death of their mother in childbirth, propelled along by the most thumping percussion you’ll hear in music today. Backing vocals transform The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid into something ethereal and majestic while (spoiler alert!) the villain getting his comeuppance in the end is as satisfying and thrilling as any book or film. That’s what The Decemberists do best - take the literary and set it to thrilling music and here, they’ve never done it better.

4: Radiohead - Kid A (Parlophone/2000)

It’s all been done, right? The Beatles wrote the rule book, smashed the system and then a handful of innovators have truly done something completely new in the field of popular music. That may have looked the case but Kid A was something even the most fervent Radiohead fan couldn’t have anticipated. There’s a school of thought that says this album is more influential than listenable, more to be appreciated than enjoyed, and it’s difficult to totally refute that - you wouldn’t put it on to impress a date, for example. But Kid A truly transcends the boundaries of popular music; it’s the sound of being alive in the 21st Century. Clocks tick, hearts beat, there’s the sturm und drang of industry, clicks, glitches, warmth, and there’s also melodies too. Some of the sounds made on this record seem perfect to soundtrack film of foetuses on the womb, so the appeal of this album could somehow be evolutionary, but repeated listens show Radiohead know what they’re doing and they remembered to include songs to go with it. Idioteque is beguiling, stark and primal, How to Disappear Completely swirls and sucks you in, while Everything in Its Right Place seems to invent patterns of chords and notes you’ve never heard before. Of all the records on this list, Kid A will be the one that sounds most relevant, fresh, vital and ground-breaking in fifty years’ time, just like it does today and just like it always has done.

5: Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid (Fiction/2008)

Nice guys don’t always have to finish last, and here’s the proof. Years of slog and toil and three albums of being nearly-men all seemed to be worth it when Elbow really hit the big time with the release of The Seldom Seen Kid. Critical acclaim, sales and the Mercury prize followed and general consensus said it couldn’t have happened to nicer people. Of course, that’s not particularly pertinent to the record's overall quality, but it certainly makes for a better story. What separates Elbow from the crowd is Guy Garvey, with his sweet, sentimental voice and extraordinary way with a phrase - he has a knack for saying what you’ve always felt, but never even knew you wanted to express. The Seldom Seen Kid displays naked emotion from the opening of Starlings (cautious build-up followed by the best horn stabs this side of disco) and oddly, makes you root for the band you’re listening to. Windswept and carrying the battle scars of life, The Seldom Seen Kid is a lament to a lost friend, a beautiful union and inspirationally wonderful.

6: Arcade Fire - Funeral (Rough Trade/2005)

Well, they repeatedly play this one note for a few bars, then it breaks into the whole band singing la-la-la. Have you ever tried to explain to someone why the beginning of Wake Up is so uplifting? The moment the voices break through is one of those moments that gets you every time, yet the ingredients that make it up are so simple. This is why Funeral is so peculiar; there’s nothing in its make-up that suggests it should be one of the albums of the decade, but Arcade Fire are clearly playing because they love it. And also, why is an album fixated on death and loss so life-affirming? Maybe it’s because Arcade Fire sounded like the gang you wanted to be in, they’re the Not-So-Secret Seven and it’s them against the world with their harmonies and baroque pop from another time. You get to know them and the bittersweet ending of Funeral, In The Backseat, peels back any barrier that may still remain and becomes one of the most gut-wrenching songs you’ll ever hear. A stellar album, victory was theirs, and we were there to enjoy it with them.

7: Tindersticks - Waiting for the Moon (Beggar’s Banquet/2003)

Tindersticks’ first three albums (two called Tindersticks and one called Curtains) were so critically acclaimed, it seemed everyone was suffering from Tindersticks fatigue afterwards and they’ve been largely ignored since. It’s a crying shame; Waiting for the Moon was the album that introduced me to Tindersticks and has become one of the great lost records of the 21st Century. Admittedly, they don’t break the mould - the women are still always glamorous and unobtainable, the cigarette always lit and the glass (of whiskey, naturally) always half-empty, but it doesn’t mean Waiting for the Moon is anything but a work of staggering beauty. The album creeps in almost unnoticed with Until the Morning Comes, where Stuart Staples sounds half on the verge of tears and half of the verge of murder. 4:48 Psychosis is deeply evocative and unsettling and Sometimes It Hurts is a lush ballad fit to stand along career-highpoint, Buried Bones. Where Waiting for the Moon really comes into its own, though, is the seven-minute epic, My Oblivion. It’s classic Tindersticks; it’s languid, it’s drenched in strings, it’s mournful, it’s yearning and it’s utterly, utterly breathtaking.

8: Kings of Convenience - Riot on an Empty Street (Source/2004)

If producing an album of largely acoustic, quasi-pastoral pop, you need to have a trick or two up your sleeve just to keep it interesting. In which case, Kings of Convenience proved that they’re veritable magicians with the release of Riot on an Empty Street. Bubbling with intrigue and mystery, the understated, almost disinterested vocals of Erland Øye and Eirik Glambek Bøe (and, on occasion, Feist) are perfectly married to the delicate sunshine melodies and intricate finger-picking. Understated, sparse and gorgeous, Riot on an Empty Street is 45 minutes where you can get lost and just absorb what’s coming out of the speakers. Reminiscent of Simon and Garfunkel in their pomp, whether performing lingering ballads (The Build Up) or uptempo, perky pop (I’d Rather Dance with You), Kings of Convenience are always compelling.

9: Midlake - The Trials of Van Occupanther (Bella Union/2006)

Fleet Foxes took a host of plaudits for their eponymous début and while it’s a fine album, it’s hard to not feel like Midlake had been cheated somewhat. Two years before Fleet Foxes was The Trials of Van Occupanther; an album which also expertly blended the folk-rock of Crosby, Stills and Nash with the 21st Century, but did so with stronger melodies, finer song structures and more evocative lyrics. Case in point, the corking opener, Roscoe, which chugs along on a steady piano and guitar base before throwing in drum fills and angular licks that give it a whole new dimension. Witness also Head Home, the best 1970s country-rock classic there never was and Young Bride, with its sweet melody that comes from nowhere and its repeated vocal coda accompanied only by strings. At its heart, though, was a distillation of everything great and good from its influences, leading to an album with an irresistible pull. Someone once said that they best bands live in their own universe, and on the evidence of The Trials of Van Occupanther, Midlake’s 19th Century America is a fantastic one to inhabit.

10: Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip - Angles (Sunday Best Recordings/2008)

It doesn’t quite seem right that the most inventive, witty and interesting hip-hop album of the decade came from darkest Essex, but maybe Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip (they tend to collaborate rather than face-off, despite what their name suggests) were simply more hungry than everyone else. Pip certainly seems so as he furiously spits rhymes on The Beat That My Heart Skipped; a track whose tempo seems to suit his flow to a tee as he veers from quintessential Englishman to hip-hop connoisseur, sometimes in the same couplet (“Oh, Good God, damn, and other such phrases/Haven’t heard a beat like this for ages”). Angles isn’t afraid to take on the topics not often covered in rap either - there’s religion (Letter from God to Man), suicide (Magician’s Assistant) and, of course, the life and death of Tommy Cooper (Tommy C). These can pale into insignificance though, when compared to what is possibly the single of the decade: Thou Shalt Always Kill. Detractors will point to the fact it’s contradictory (it provides a list of stars whose names are not to be taken in vain in one verse, and instructs you not to put stars on pedestals the next) but it brought something back into pop that’s been sorely missed - humour. Endlessly quotable lines (today’s favourite is “thou shalt not express your shock at the fact that Sharon got off with Brad at the club last night by saying, “is it?””), heavy beats and a helping of bleeps that sound as if they come from a Nintendo Game Boy circa 1992, it’s the peak of a fantastic album and above all, FUN!

The Best of the Decade: 30-21

21: Camera Obscura - Let’s Get Out of this Country (Merge/2006)

Wily Scots Camera Obscura neatly side-stepped out of the shadow of fellow countrymen Belle and Sebastian with this career-defining album. Both Camera Obscura and B&S have shorn their fey mentality in recent years for more bombast and a move towards the mainstream but Camera Obscura have pulled it off with more style and aplomb. Opener Lloyd, I’m Ready to be Heartbroken (a response to Lloyd Cole’s Are You Ready to be Heartbroken?) is a fizzy blast of sunshine pop which races along and implores you to keep up, If Looks Could Kill is choc-full of rama-lama glitz and the title track makes small-town ennui sound great fun. Frontwoman Tracyanne Campbell has never sounded so confident and assured and with Let’s Get Out of this Country, Camera Obscura have joined the elite and written one of the pop albums of the 21st Century.

22: The Decemberists - Picaresque (Rough Trade/2005)

Picaresque is the finest example of what The Decemberists do best - putting engrossing, literary stories to music. But as well as stop-you-in-your-tracks rockers like The Infanta and Sixteen Military Wives, there are tender laments like Eli, the Barrow Boy and Of Angels and Angles. This is before even mentioning nine-minute epic, The Mariner’s Revenge Song, which tells the tale of a young sailor dedicating his life to avenging his mother’s death courtesy of her vagabond partner. Those nine minutes take in jaunty rhythms, sea shanty, waltz time and what resembles a Zorba’s Dance to produce something which couldn’t be any band but The Decemberists. Picaresque is captivating from start to finish and works almost as well as a collection of short stories as it does a phenomenal album.

23: David Ford - I Sincerely Apologise for All the Trouble I’ve Caused (Independiente/2005)

After disbanding severely under-rated power pop trio, Easyworld, David Ford branched out into the solo world with this verbosely-titled album. Rumours are Ford was unhappy with his previous record label and the direction they wanted to take Easyworld, and this is the sound of one man’s frustration and fury at modern life. Righteous anger seeps from every pore, steadily rising and rising on State of the Union as Ford attacks anyone and everyone in a surprisingly erudite fashion. Ford has other strings to his bow though, and his touching recollection of a relationship where the fire died in A Long Time Ago could melt the hardest of hearts. Since the release of I Sincerely Apologise…, Ford has been on a seemingly non-stop tour and releases his third album early in 2010.

24: CSS - Cansei de Ser Sexy (Sub Pop/2006)

What too many artists seem to forget is that music should be as much about enjoyment as anything else. For Brazilian partygoers CSS, the enjoyment of life appears to pretty much be their ethos, for Cansei de Ser Sexy is an album about the good times, however depraved they may turn out to be. This album is packed full of alcohol-fuelled lust and has no inhibitions whatsoever - it’s basically a record about parties and fucking. Patins drips with I-want-you-right-now yearning, Art Bitch is possibly the most grotesque but compelling song you’ll ever hear and the hipster-baiting Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death From Above is one of the singles of the decade; if you don’t dance to it, check in and pick up your own death certificate. Refreshingly free of pretension and revelling in its own trashiness, Cansei de Ser Sexy is a blast of a good-time album.

25: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Fever to Tell (Fiction/2003)

Sometimes, you should believe the hype. In a post-Strokes world, it would’ve been easy to write off YYYs as another über-trendy New York band for the critics to get themselves in a tizzy about. Their début EP then showed promise (particularly the fantastic single, Bang) but Fever to Tell was even better than anyone expected. The first half of the album disappears in a blur as Karen O shrieks, purrs and yelps her way around Nick Zinner’s jagged riffs - each track exuding confidence, bluster and raw sex appeal. It’s easy to see why Karen O has become such an icon with her unique sense of style and withering putdowns of men who aren’t up to scratch. But before Fever to Tell becomes in danger of coming over all riot-grrrl, cracks begin to show in the façade. The tracks become slower and more introspective, culminating in the sonically stunning Maps, where O appears to be on the edge of tears as she insists “they don’t love you like I love you”. Imagine that, a lead singer who can carry the band, rock with the best of them but still reveal their human side. Fever to Tell announced to the world that a star had arrived.

26: Easyworld - Kill the Last Romantic (Jive/2004)

Ah, Easyworld. We all have our bands who we believe never got the attention, praise and sales they deserved and Easyworld are one of mine. Their début, This is Where I Stand, was rough around the edges but hinted at more to come. Kill the Last Romantic delivered on that promise, but in an unexpected fashion. Rather than build upon the power-pop sound they were known for, KTLR was a more grown-up pop record, using a wider range of instruments and featuring the odd piano ballad. Detractors may label it AOR, but it was every bit as enjoyable as its predecessor, but now with added pathos. 2nd Amendment is a 3-minute four-to-the-floor epic, Drive charts the helplessness of growing up almost perfectly and ‘Til the Day is that rarest of things - a declaration of undying love you can actually believe in. Kill the Last Romantic also has a couplet to stir the heart for bookends. When the final track (aptly titled Goodbye) builds and builds, the cymbals crash and make way for the same lines that open the album, it’s a spine-tingling moment up there with any album of the last decade.

27: The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (Warner/2002)

Nobody familiar with the Lips’ self-destructive, drug-fuelled space rock of the 1980s could have predicted the critical and commercial success that they would become in the 21st Century. Of course, it all began with The Soft Bulletin, their breathtaking masterpiece that arrived at the fag-end of the 90s. However, it was Yoshimi… that took them into the mainstream. The concept is more than a little ridiculous, but despite the abundance of robot themes and the massively distorted drums, it’s the human warmth that shines through on this album more than anything. The string arrangements seem to be choreographed to match sounds that stir human emotion (witness the coda of One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21) and this album also gave us the most show-stopping line of the decade (“Do you realize that everyone you know some day will die?" from the initially fluffy and innocent sounding Do You Realize?? - now the state anthem of Oklahoma). Perhaps no-one will ever understand what goes on in their minds, but Yoshimi… demonstrates that The Flaming Lips know what’s going on in ours.

28: Arab Strap - The Last Romance (Chemikal Underground/2005)

Arab Strap are fantastic storytellers, though they tell you the stories you may not want to hear, for theirs is a world of regret, too much to drink, bad decisions and disappointment. Your opinion of The Last Romance could hinge on what you make of the opening line to first track, Stink (“Burn these sheets that we’ve just fucked in”). It may not be happy listening but there’s something about the relish in Aidan Moffatt’s voice that makes these tales of twentysomething dreams compelling. It may be somewhat unremarkable sonically (mostly the usual guitar/bass/drums setup) but the strength of the melodies really shines through though the star of the show is Moffatt’s acerbic, cutting wit. The Last Romance would cut short any party, but by yourself on a rainy day, it’s a cathartic and somehow uplifting experience, worthy of many a repeat listen.

29: The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow (Sub Pop/2003)

As I get older and hear more and more music, I start to reach the conclusion that more often than not, simplicity is king and what I really love is pop music. There’s clearly a place for your nosebleed techno and drill n’ bass “classics”, but nothing quite beats a well-crafted three-minute hook-laden, melody-driven, bona fide pop song. Chutes Too Narrow is the best example of this from the last decade, and possibly even longer. It follows a pretty standard verse-chorus-verse setup and isn’t going to change the world, but it’s so well-crafted and bursting with memorable melodies that it begs to be listened again and again. Some may deem it unworthy, and The Shins certainly have their detractors but this really is quality, timeless songwriting of the highest order. Just typing this paragraph has put Fighting in a Sack firmly in my head, and every time I hear a snippet of this album, I have to go back and play the whole thing. A victory for quality over style, reputation and other things that barely matter.

30: Martha Wainwright - Martha Wainwright (Drowned in Sound/2005)

The opening track of this album is beautiful, simply stunning and beyond my feeble words. For a proper explanation of why it’s so good, you should go here: http://bit.ly/5OrHSM. However, the rest of the album ain’t half bad either. Factory fades in like a half-awake dream and lazily rolls along like an hour on a beach, and This Life and These Flowers are similarly captivating. But don’t be fooled into thinking this is an album without balls, because Martha Wainwright has more attitude and feistiness than your average album. In fact, anyone titling a song about their father Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole is pretty confident, especially when said father is songwriter Loudon Wainwright III. Tracks such as Ball and Chain also pack a bitter, cutting edge. Wainwright’s voice is a fabulous instrument, capable of capturing the good and the bad, the rough and the smooth, and is never, ever dull. Ignore the males of the Wainwright family, Martha is the one to invest in.

The Decemberists: Live

The Decemberists: Live at The Coronet, Elephant and Castle

How would you define confidence? The first entry on dictionary.com lists confidence as “full trust; belief in the powers, trustworthiness, or reliability of a person or thing”. Urban Dictionary states that confidence is “absolut could-care-fucking-less-what-every-fucking-body thinks” (well, they would, wouldn’t they?). But of all the myriad definitions, surely this ranks pretty high: how about releasing the album of the year, going on tour and then playing said album in its entirety as a warm-up to your own gig? Yep, The Decemberists sure have confidence – such an act fits both the definitions above – and on the evidence of their show at The Coronet, it most definitely isn’t misplaced.

The Elephant and Castle Coronet in South East London is primarily used for club nights rather than live gigs and only holds 2600. It seemed a pretty small venue for a Decemberists show, especially seeing as it was a sell-out weeks in advance and was one of only two London performances to promote The Hazards of Love (the other being at the even-smaller Kentish Town Forum).

The show opened – unsurprisingly – with Prelude, and cheers and whoops reverberated round the theatre as the various band members gradually wandered onstage. Colin Meloy’s guitar rang out the opening riff for The Hazards of Love #1 (The Prettiest Whistles Won’t Wrestle the Thistles Undone) and from that point on, it was non-stop. The Decemberists performed all seventeen tracks of The Hazards of Love without pause and without hesitation. The delicate, tender tracks (Isn’t It a Lovely Night?, The Hazards of Love #4 (The Drowned)) were given even more consideration and attention, while the more upfront, rock numbers (The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid, The Rake’s Song) were raced through with an urgent intensity. On Won’t Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga), drummer John Moen went hell for leather, attacking his hi-hat and snare with both sticks simultaneously.

If you’re unfamiliar with The Hazards of Love (and if so, seriously, where have you been?), it’s basically a concept album. There’s a narrative arc throughout, centring around four main characters: two of which are voiced by Meloy, and the other two by guest vocalists Becky Stark of Lavender Diamond and Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond. Just to make it clear who’s good and who’s bad, Stark wore white and Worden wore black throughout the show and they were in fine voice, Worden in particular performing some applause-worthy vocal gymnastics on Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid.

As the final strains of The Hazards of Love #4 (The Drowned) died out, the crowd rose as one to give an ovation and Meloy said, “Hi, London, we’re the Decemberists,” before the band left the stage. People in the crowd were looking at each other in amazement as if to say “there’s more?!” and it was hard to imagine how such a spectacle could be matched.

The second half showed that, as well as being writers of extended pop fiction of the highest order, The Decemberists are the jauntiest band in music today. Their songs seem to trigger a Pavlovian response, where you can’t help but move in time to the bass, which is almost oompah-like at times. After an hour of solid music in part one, Meloy and the rest of the band engaged with the audience extensively in part two, and displayed their acumen as traditional all-round entertainers. There was a story of how violent The Elephant and Castle pub in Portland, Oregon is, which ended with the payoff, “so, really, I think you guys could’ve picked somewhere better to name this area after”, there was jazz improvisation between songs and there was even a singalong, where Meloy divided the crowd up (“hey, you there, yeah, you, step left, hey, everyone, this is Dennis, we take him everywhere”), got them to harmonise and then shifted the dynamics like an orchestra conductor.

Oh yeah, there were songs too: great, great songs. The Yankee Bayonet, O Valencia! and Sixteen Military Wives all got a great response. Admittedly, they didn’t play my favourite (We Both Go Down Together, since you’re asking) but I was too busy enjoying myself to really care. After what seemed like not long at all, they retreated backstage once more, leaving the baying crowd hungry, despite the fact an obvious return was imminent, as it always is in these situations.

Meloy returned solo and performed a heartfelt rendition of Eli, The Barrow Boy which had the packed venue almost silent in reverence before the other Decemberists returned. Meloy subsequently announced that for their last song, the crowd would need to “scream as if they were in the belly of a whale”, which triggered possibly the loudest cheer of the night. All five band members stood stage front (plus an inflatable killer whale, courtesy of some industrious soul in the crowd) and ripped through a high-energy version of The Mariner’s Revenge, which was a culmination of everything that had occurred over the previous two hours. There were highs, lows, noise, silence, screams, dancing, slow bits and fast bits, Russian Cossack dancing (evidently quite difficult whilst playing a double bass) and such ferocious drumming that by halfway through the song, the stage was strewn with drumstick and tambourine debris.

A shellshocked, buzzing throng then emerged into the autumnal London night and went their various ways home, all united by what they’d witnessed. That was my night with The Decemberists; they’ve finished their A Short Fazed Hovel (an anagram of The Hazards of Love) tour, so, um, sorry… you really should’ve been there, these paltry words are nothing like an adequate substitute.