My Morning Jacket + Everest - Edgefield (Troutdale, OR; Jun. 28, 2011)

There was a moment during Tuesday night’s My Morning Jacket performance at Edgefield at which it occurred to me that my mind was effectively blown, finding myself unexpectedly sharing a sense of rapture with an audience that, last time I had bothered to notice, had been somewhat less than wholeheartedly engaged. I couldn’t say exactly when it happened, but it took quite a while to get there, and while it lasted, I had lost all conception of time and place and abandoned myself to the performance of one of the finest live bands in America. And then it was over, all too soon.

In spite of forecasts of rain, never a particularly appetizing prospect for an outdoor concert, the weather in Troutdale by showtime was immaculate, with a clear blue sky and delightfully moderate temperatures. It was, in short, perfect weather for a picnic, and that is exactly how it felt as I found a clear spot in the grass and set to work on the bratwurst and beer I had selected for my rock’n’roll fuel. I was thus engaged when opening act Everest abruptly began their set at 6:30, without an introduction or even a cursory “hello.” Indeed, the sudden onset of music was so unexpected, and greeted with such indifference by those around me, that I was at first convinced that this was merely a soundcheck. Such is the challenge of opening a show at Edgefield, a wonderfully scenic amphitheater nestled among towering trees near the mouth of the Columbia River Gorge. Everest proved to be an able rock band, but hardly compelling enough to overcome the inherent obstacles of the setting and the fact that most of the audience seemed to have arrived in a timely fashion merely to claim a good seat for the headliner. In truth, Everest’s principal qualification seemed to be that they bear a certain audial resemblance to My Morning Jacket, a fact which might recommend them to fans of the latter’s more hard-rocking tendencies, but which did not translate to an abundance of enthusiasm for their live set.

In keeping with the tight ship that is an Edgefield concert, My Morning Jacket took the stage promptly at 7:30 amidst an extended recording of the bizarre opening strains of “Victory Dance,” the first track off this year’s Circuital. Perhaps that album has yet to grow on many of the band’s fans, because My Morning Jacket certainly did not muster with this song the reception befitting a live act of such vaunted reputation. Indeed, Jim James’ rather awkward dancing around the stage, like a performer who hasn’t solved the problem of what to do with his hands, gave the uninitiated ample reason to doubt that reputation. The band followed with “Circuital,” which, being track two on the record, seemed to tease the audience with the prospect that they intended to play the album straight through. The jam-oriented track provided a better medium for the band to display their talents, though, and already signs were emerging that they were settling in and catching a groove. By the next track, the über-catchy “Off the Record,” one could begin to see what all the fuss was about, and James, now armed with a guitar, was starting to look like the rockstar he is. Still, the sunny weather and festival-style setup obstinately precluded any sense of intimacy and, just as Everest had, My Morning Jacket struggled with the conditions, seemingly watching helplessly as the intensity generated onstage feebly diffused across the vast expanse of the berm.

The show continued in this fashion for some time, steadily improving but consistently coming in a bit below expectations. On “Golden,” one of the band’s most captivatingly beautiful tunes, the nature of the problem was epitomized as the level of chatter around me became impossible to tune out against the more subtle music. It wasn’t until the band pulled out the big guns in the form of the powerful “Gideon” that things began to get back on track. A few songs later, an unexpectedly killer rendition of “Movin’ Away” stands out as the first moment at which My Morning Jacket’s considerable abilities were truly evident. That was followed, to the loudest applause so far, by “Wordless Chorus.” The song is a classic, and Jim James may have let himself become over excited when he emitted a loud, guttural grunt after declaring that “we are the innovators.” He did the same thing at the conclusion of the song, this time accompanying it with an unathletic karate kick. Nevertheless, the stage had been set.

A loud, exceedingly funky rendition of “Holdin’ On to Black Metal” got the crowd bouncing from the stage all the way back to the trees. From there, the band didn’t let the energy abate. The light show behind them, previously easy to ignore, was now cycling rapidly between celestial starscapes, television fuzz, and fluorescent flashes. The music seemed heavier and louder, one song fading into another, not because they were indistinguishable but because I was so entranced by the music that I could no longer be bothered to draw the lines that would divide it into digestible, clearly delineated pieces. Previously staid fans could now be seen dancing vigorously, and girls were waving their hands and screaming as if the Beatles were expected any minute. Somewhere in there the sun had set, and the lights lining the stage were suddenly brought into commission, bringing the band into illumination, and with it, focus. The crowd around me literally seemed to disappear, shrouded in darkness now and only expressing itself to me via a sea of silhouetted raised hands between myself and the stage. The spectacle climaxed with a raucous rendition of “Mahgeeta,” a standout track from It Still Moves that, in its recorded version, absolutely pails in comparison to what I heard performed on Tuesday night.

Then, abruptly, the trance was over, as the band left the stage for a brief encore break. They had now been playing for just shy of two hours, and presumably faced an impending curfew. They returned shortly for their encore, but, having sacrificed the momentum that had been so steadily established, My Morning Jacket seemed now to be merely another good rock’n’roll band. The magic was briefly recaptured on their final song, “One Big Holiday,” but as a one-off, it could not match the sustained power of the marathon that had so recently ended. At the conclusion of that number, the band gave their thanks and said their farewells – more earnest than such platitudes usually seem to be – and left the stage to the tune of Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again.” There was a hint of irony to the selection, particularly given the song’s famous role as the accompaniment to nuclear apocalypse in Dr. Strangelove. But then again, there is a simple sentiment at its heart, one that couldn’t be more appropriate to the occasion. My Morning Jacket put on a tremendous show, and by the end they most certainly knew it. So it’s true: we’ll meet again. I had heard they were an outstanding live band, and I came away convinced. Next time they come to town, I’ll most certainly be there.

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