Bon Iver

The very first Italian date for Justin Vernon and co. was a hugely anticipated event, one through which the Ferrara Sotto Le Stelle festival had once again earned considerable visibility and prestige. As is well known, the occasion was put at risk by the earthquake that struck the provinces of Emilia – and Ferrara was far from exempt from the damage caused. The only option left to avoid scrapping the whole program was to move to two spaces completely different from usual, reluctantly leaving behind the historic location of the Castello Estense (the square and its inner courtyard) and, with it, the very essence of the event's sense of place. To some this might sound like a mere informational aside – almost certainly to the die-hard Bon Iver fans – but personally I believe this situation had a real impact on how the show ultimately played out, which, judging by the exchange of comments after the concert, at least partly fell short of expectations.

So here we are at the motovelodromo, a vast gravelly space hemmed in by concrete walls and fencing, where you'd normally expect something closer to a stadium show than the latest indie sensation. It's a proper arena, where clusters of people have already set up camp, beer in hand, to listen to Poliça, the evening's opening act. The stage design immediately grabs attention: what at first looked like a simple frayed mesh fabric later turns out to double as a "screen" for projections of lights and mostly abstract colored shapes. Also scattered thickly across the stage are green lanterns, resembling large upside-down chandeliers, which will serve to wrap the more intimate moments in atmosphere or to underline the accents of the percussion.

And finally, at 9:45 pm, the band takes the stage: as announced, the line-up numbers nine members in all, including three horn players (Reginald Pace, C.J. Camerieri and the phenomenal Colin Stetson), two drum kits and two guitars in addition to the frontman's own; a big band with ever-shifting instrumentation that we could easily picture on Sufjan Stevens's stage more readily than that of an isolationist soul like Vernon. And perhaps, deep down, his less-than-total ease in this choral guise can be felt in the composed restraint of the whole performance, and even more so in his slightly awkward falsetto, once stripped of the layering effects that prop it up on record.

It's no easy task, after all, to bring back to life that kind of alter ego so meticulously built in the studio, one that seems to emerge from channels far more intimate and unspoken than any physical presence could convey. Even the latest album, for all the complexity of its arrangements, turns out to be a profoundly "solo" work, one that nonetheless requires substantial backing to be brought to the stage.

So the audience, too, has to adjust to the new shape of the songs, especially those from the debut, whose slender structures are bound to be fleshed out by (sometimes cumbersome) orchestral elements.

The setlist holds few surprises, opening with the very same pairing that kicks off the latest album: the slowed-down arpeggio of "Perth" feels like a memory resurfacing and giving off its own light; curiously, the martial rhythm that once marked it comes across as somewhat muted despite the double drum kits, evidently under-amplified. But the interplay of lights and the sheer rightness of the melody confirm that no other opener could have had the same effect, just as its perfect follow-through ("Minnesota") stands as one of the few moments where Vernon unleashes his natural register, almost baritone-like. The album's sequence is barely departed from for the splendid "Michicant," the first moment of real hush, during which the crowd listens on devotedly, giving Vernon the chance to regain momentum by letting his voice soar into unheard-of highs. The real missed opportunity comes with the more recent single, "Towers," unfortunately delivered without much emphasis, despite carrying huge potential for a big payoff after its first two verses.

The treat for fans is "Brackett, WI," from the all-star compilation "Dark Was The Night," but before long the band circles back to the (doubly) self-titled album with "Wash": it's impossible to replicate the muted, evanescent effect of the piano, and yet the frontman's falsetto brings a pleasing soulful smoothness in the vein of James Blake (not by chance, he featured on a track from the EP "Enough Thunder"). What follows is one of the most moving moments, and the crowd responds with real enthusiasm: "Holocene" alone sounds even more epic, with the horns slowly building, pausing briefly, then exploding into an almost overwhelming reprise.

The long-awaited return to the standout tracks of “For Emma, Forever Ago“: it’s only on “Skinny Love”, in fact, that the horde of recording iPhones rises up, along with broad audience participation in the choruses (“And I told you to be patient…”); but despite its status as Bon Iver’s defining anthem, it’s the following “Creature Fear” that truly moves, with its sudden contrast between verse and chorus, where the whole arrangement builds into a crescendo of real impact. The triptych closes with “re: Stacks”, the only track where Vernon keeps the solo spotlight for himself: dedicating the song to an Italian friend and performing it with the sheer simplicity that defined it from the start, the good minstrel gives us a few minutes that will probably stay in the memory of everyone in attendance.

With the necessary dips into the past now concluded, at least for now, the last stretch before the encore is set aside for the final three tracks from 2011: nothing out of the ordinary until an even more heavily effected version of the much-discussed ’80s revival number “Beth/Rest”; but the blatant, excessive use of the vocoder only confirms just how singular this song truly is, an emotional closer especially in its instrumental coda, where for once it’s the guitars that rise above everything else.

Heartfelt thanks and an exit from the stage: the crowd loudly calls the band back, and on their return they clumsily try to forge a closer bond with the audience, inviting everyone to repeat ad libitum the refrain of “The Wolves” (“What might have been lost”); rather than real engagement, the moment ends up feeling almost awkward, quickly swept aside by the breezier “For Emma”, which closes the show and rules out any chance of hearing a more meaningful “Flume”.

Not even a mention for the many musicians brought in for the occasion. An apparent hit-and-run affair in which the band allowed itself (and us) only the barest of variations on the theme. A tight, enjoyable show, but certainly not as memorable as we perhaps had a right to expect. It feels like a kind of vindication for the many detractors of “all smoke and no fire”, ready to write off the biggest names on the international music scene right now. But Justin Vernon is no charlatan, and his “good winter” has already left plenty of fine moments in our musical lives lately. That’s where they remain, certainly not within the walls of a grey velodrome, nor on the latest-generation phone. One thing is certain: most of the people there really wanted to be, ready even to accept a disappointment they perhaps didn’t even experience, while everyone else would have done better to save their (not inconsiderable) ticket money.

It was nice, moreover, to be able to debunk the myth of the shy, solitary folk singer-songwriter, when more than two hours after the show ended Justin went over to a small group of dedicated fans, pens in hand, and happily obliged and thanked them warmly before boarding the huge tour bus. You can bet they’ll be at his next show too, on October 30th in Milan, whatever complaints there might be.

Photos by Francesca Baiocchi

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google