Crumpled paper has never, exactly, represented anything in my eyes other than trash or discarded waste.
But while the scrunched texture of the delicate fabric draped asymmetrically from the ceiling at QPAC (14 March) drew resemblance, ‘rubbish’ certainly did not come to mind.
Grizzly Bear entered the stage in the dark, silhouetted against the sheer hangings starting the set with the drawn-out introduction of ‘Four Cypresses’.
The band backed up with two more tracks from ‘Painted Ruins’, ‘Losing All Sense’ grounded by a bouncy piano riff (iconically grizzly), ‘Cut-Out’ less structured, loose sentiments held together by the brief, periodic beat that hammered midway through the song.
While in no way subpar, it was clear all three were new, each performed with fresh enthusiasm albeit less practice, less years of rehearsal.
Click here to read our Grizzly Bear Adelaide 2018 review.
Vocalist Ed Droste offered quick hellos and welcomes, 2012’s ‘Yet Again’ next much more confident and coherent.
The harmonies of ‘Fine For Now’ were executed excellently, Christopher Bear prolonging its close with ominous drumming seamlessly leading into 2009’s ‘Ready, Able’. This release is a wonderful example of one of Grizzly Bear’s most compelling traits; music only really ‘coming together’ periodically.
‘Sleeping Ute’ increased the tempo, maintained with the more pop-like musings of successful ‘Painted Ruins’ single, ‘Mourning Sound’. ‘Glass Hillside’s strange synthesizers reminded me of clockwork, turning cogs losing shape as the track reached its psychedelic close.
The crowd welcomed the awaited ‘Two Weeks’ with applause, an undeniable indie-rock anthem of the naughties; 2005 record ‘Yellow House’ made its debut next, represented by the diverse ‘On A Neck, On A Spit’, pieced together with multiple musical ideas and genres.
The band changed the pace with ‘Foreground’, minimalistic, with only harmonies layered over piano; ‘Knife’ breezed by, ‘Three Rings’ immensely heavier before Grizzly Bear closed the set with the vocal rise and fall of ‘Veckatimest’s ‘While You Wait For The Others’.
A ceaseless standing ovation encouraged their return to the stage; ‘Shift’ silenced the audience, slow and transfixing, the lengthy ‘Sun In Your Eyes’ lastly building to an instrumentally massive finale.
Sound aside to start, the show was visually spectacular, enhanced by an incredible light show that fittingly highlighted the band in various colours, shadows, flickers and spotlights.
While the delicate fabric draped asymmetrically from the ceiling initially seemed interesting at most it proved to be a stunning decorative element, quite the spectacle when illuminated making crumpled paper seem extraordinarily pretty.
You can only presume while listening to recordings a variety of instruments are utilised though seeing Grizzly Bear perform in the flesh truly served to emphasise how many.
There was so much paraphilia scattered across the stage I admittedly had doubts it would all be used, though the band asserted its necessity, all four members (plus touring pianist Aaron Arntz) switching between instruments so aptly and frequently it was tricky to determine their strongest suit.
On to sound, there’s much to say: those here for easy-listening music that audibly makes absolute sense, perhaps see yourself out. Grizzly Bear ain’t exactly your cookie-cutter, Sunday afternoon set list short-listees.
Their compositions remind me of eye puzzles, clear image only materialising among the chaos when looked at a certain way, the result almost made more beautiful by the journey taken in finding it, the discovery of an exciting surprise.
Songwriting must be brutally strenuous, a process tricky to imagine; each track is heavily textured, embellished with so many intricate sounds, harmonised far more complexly than with your standard thirds and fifths.
Though the element I find most fascinating is the unexpected twists and turns their music takes; right when the melody begins to feel coherent it will abruptly change direction or vice versa.
Like words without vowels Grizzly Bear repeatedly break the ‘rules’ of traditional songwriting, but it works so well I wish all bands would disregard standard structure with the same sort of reckless abandon (in saying that, I dare say few would be capable).
Without being burdened by any creative borders I suppose the ‘sky’ truly is the limit for the band, coincidentally, that also happens to be an all-consonant word.
