Colin Meloy Plays Charmingly Without His Decemberists

With his band The Decemberists currently taking some time off, frontman and principal songwriter Colin Meloy was in town for a solo performance in support of his first commercially released live album (not counting the three discs of covers sold exclusively at shows), the appropriately titled Colin Meloy Sings Live!

As Meloy sipped a glass of red wine, and armed only with a stable of acoustic guitars which he changed frequently, he ran through a set list consisting mainly of Decemberists material from as far back as 2002's Castaways And Cutouts.

The solo acoustic format meant the songs were distilled down to the basic elements of chords, melody and lyrics, and they served to showcase Meloy's mastery of all three — along with his distinct and expressive vocal delivery. Stripped of instrumental embellishments and a back beat, the songs more often than not stood up to whatever scrutiny you'd care to level at them. Meloy is definitely a songwriter's songwriter in the tradition of Bob Dylan or Shane MacGowan, but lacks both the arrogant aloofness of the former and, thankfully, the self-destructiveness of the latter.

A feathery, down-tempo version of "Summersong" and rich renditions of "Shiny," "Shankhill Butchers," "Leslie Anne Levine" and "Apology Song" — an ode to a friend's stolen bicycle (and something the Toronto audience could relate to only too well) — were among the highlights.

Contributions from the rest of The Decemberists were noticeably absent at times, especially on some of The Crane Wife's proggier numbers. Although Meloy pulled off a fun and freewheeling version of "The Perfect Crime No. 2," complete with the audience filling in the solo part and Meloy supplying his own echoes, the driving bassline of The Decemberists' version was sorely missed.

The lush verses of "O Valencia!" were reduced to a two-chord acoustic back-and-forth and seemed positively plodding without the counterpoint of additional instruments and the added energy that a band would have provided. Maybe Meloy is just getting sick of it since it's one of the most performed songs from The Crane Wife. He even cracked up a bit during what was supposed to have been the song's dramatic climax.

That said, the crowd was more than willing to fill in the missing parts and solos while Meloy strummed in what was a rare example of unsolicited audience participation from a usually reserved Toronto audience. Opener and fellow Oregon native Laura Gibson remarked during her set that Decemberists fans seemed to have a better sense of pitch and rhythm than the average concert-goer, and she proved to be right. There were no tone-deaf drunks in this crowd, and they collectively managed to hit every high note spot-on.

The Decemberists' penchant for theatrics, coupled with Meloy's love of using "dictionary words" and singing in an "American-English" accent, have meant some critics have written him off as pretentious. As a solo act, he came off as anything but. He was at ease with the audience and occasionally flubbed lyrics or interjected comments mid-song. He was self-deprecating, entertaining and clearly enjoyed himself. The last thing he came across as was one of those singer-songwriters who take themselves far too seriously.

When Gibson returned to the stage to perform a duet with Meloy, I fully expected them to launch into The Decemberists' "Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then)," the beautiful conversation between a heartbroken girl and her dead soldier lover. Instead, they performed the Sam Cooke cover "Cupid," which didn't do much to showcase Gibson's talents, since she mainly sung harmony.

And what considerable talents Gibson had. She had a tough start of it, with a set that started at 6:30 p.m. on a Saturday night in front of an audience of maybe 60 people. She also had to compete with the clanging of beer crates that were being unloaded at the bar. But she quickly charmed the crowd with her adorable stage banter, deft guitar playing and nuanced voice, and ultimately delivered a folky performance that became less introverted and more self-assured as the set wore on.