Modest Mouse has driven us down interstates, guided us through the most barren of American suburbs, and nudged us to a new view of the universe, but on the night of their most recent Boston show, I needed their direction more than ever.
When a band makes music distinct enough to change form over time and affect the person you’ve become, bargaining with the new cannot be more difficult. It’s scary to know that they’ve written a new album that I don’t care to obsess over and it’s painful to see bros at their show who much rather begin a “U.S.A.” chant than do the cockroach. Thankfully, Modest Mouse proved that there still lies much more distance on their trail.
Gene Ween, previously in Ween, took the mic and began the night with something that could only be described as some sort of magic. As he twisted his arms and hips in opposite directions, his band elevated to become exponentially more lively throughout the set. It took some serious charm to lure in the sparse early crowd, but the carefree, funky vibe of both the instrumentals and lyrics had most everyone enthralled in the spirit of it all. At one point, there was mention of flowers and a black bush in the same song, which I quickly realized was not an exotic black plant that grows pretty flowers. Ween’s world is a swirl of nature and power, resembling what I imagine Ween fans thrived on within the band’s hay day.
Without much break, the familiar plucking of “King Rat” steered everyone to their seats. Two of the three original members stood on stage (Isaac Brock and Jeremiah Green) with a sprawling arrangement of instruments to fill in their roots. Although the crowd visibly split between those preparing to cry and others tapping their foot until “Float On”, after about five songs (somewhere mid-“Dark Center of the Universe”) everyone was drawn to center focus.
The way in which the energy of the rowdy crowd funneled in felt sudden and I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming respect for a band that could truly make the show their own. Even the new single, “Lampshades On Fire”, translated into something that had me weak at the knees and a little weepy. The complimenting combination of Brock’s charismatic growl and the arrangement that pushed through the core, might have had something to do with it. “Third Planet” has never sounded more vast than with the warm violin lines and there were horn solos that bit through the emotion hard enough to bring everyone to a uniting awe.
Brock has stood as a sort of hero ever since the band’s days of dingy Washington house shows and this Boston show served as a perfect reminder as to the type of courage that has captivated this idea. Celebrating the landscape of Boston, he talked of the day he had around the Pavilion. Disturbed by the amount of lobsters eaten by those fancy seaport goers, he proclaimed, “I have two lobsters that would otherwise be eaten by you. One with a messed up claw. I’m pardoning them and returning them back to the ocean.” A woman then came out on stage with two live lobsters and placed them in his hands. After his lighthearted story and lovingly planting a goodbye kiss on the head of each lobster, he shook his head and interjected, “I hate myself and I don’t know where to go with that.”
There might be a stoic painting of Brock hanging in the ex-mayor of Portland’s office, but it is not the pure power that we take sacred. It’s his strength to confide in anxiety and confusion for others to identify in themselves and mark as a growing point. Ending a second encore, he led the band into “The Good Times Are Killing Me” and, after everything that he offered and all of himself that he staked to get everyone in the same world, the line of every other chorus came to a whisper.
