Loney Dear at the Moore. More in the photoset [flickr]

“Are you by any chance a singing crowd?” Early in his opening set Emil Svanängen aimed to take advantage of a space assumed to be built for vocal music by asking for the audience at the Moore to help with some of the singing. Being the accommodating sorts who show up in time to catch the opening band, the Loney Dear fans in the crowd happily agreed and were then presented with a really long and super complicated (to my naive ears) figure to memorize on the spot. Bless their hearts, the assembled masses managed to catch on and sing beautifully. Later, embracing the acoustics, he sang un-amplified to the rafters. It was incredibly lovely from the front of the house, and if it was inaudible up top, they were polite enough not to complain.

(photos and more after the jump)

Loney Dear at the Moore. More in the photoset [flickr]

All in all, my only disappointment was that “the City, the Airport”, the bloghaus hit from Sologne, didn’t make it onto the setlist. Otherwise, though, the bedroom-style recordings flowered beautifully when met with a full band and tall ceilings. After closing with “Violent” from Dear John, he invited everyone to come out and have a look at their records, which, by some quirk of import or union rules they were not allowed to sell themselves. Still, the band was spotted mingling in the crowded lobby gamely talking to fans and signing items between sets.

Andrew Bird at the Moore. More in the photoset [flickr]

By now, I’ve seen Andrew Bird so many times that I’ve gotten past the dropped jaw reaction to the sheer actuality of his multi-instrumentalism and practical considerations of how he makes all of the loops and superstar whistling fit together to compliment each other. It is impossible not to be impressed by the prodigious skill required to balance all of those spinning plates, but it is also nice to have seen it in action from some of the early mad scientist solo shows to recent full-band performances just sit back and marvel at just how great the songs themselves are. The show starts with him in a fetching plaid blazer singing “sighmaster” alone, taking off his boots, and inviting the rest of the band onto the stage.

Andrew Bird at the Moore. More in the photoset [flickr]

It’s hard not to love a guy who counts a dapperly-dressed sock monkey who guards the Janus Horn as part of the ensemble. Then when between-song banter cites awkward guys at the ends of bars, texas salamanders, and non-violent sociopaths among musical influences, I know I’m in the right place. That he manages to sing about the calcium ions required for cardiac function, lonely broken armchairs at the bottom of the ocean, and potential courses of deep future evolution without sounding precious is amazing in and of itself. That you start to self-identify with pieces of discarded furniture by the end of the song and wish that someone would just call or write it is evidence of a great songwriter.

Martin Dosh performing with Andrew Bird at the Moore. More in the photoset [flickr]

Andrew Bird at the Moore. More in the photoset [flickr]

Aside from two dancing women who found their way to the front of the stage, the theater’s occupants remained in their seats (or, perched on the edge of the boxes) for the majority of the performance. It took a little convincing, but Andrew Bird eventually shamed people into standing up by mentioning that people at other big club shows on their tour were standers and the set was nearing its ending. With people on their feet, they proceeded with “Fake Palindromes” and “Imitosis”, and “Tenuousness”, followed by the very optimistic (for lovers of snacks, prescription drugs, and dancing bears) apocalypse song “Tables and Chairs”.
Within minutes, though, he was back for a virtuoso solo theatrical performance/monologue of “Why?”, bringing the band out for a reassuring version of the Handsome Family’s “Don’t Be Scared”. Soothed, impressed, and with bits of songs stuck in various places inside my head, we headed out into the city looking for snacks.