I'm about to breeze right past the venue (read: church in Brooklyn) when a skinny kid in a scarf waves toward the door and says, "It's in here." For a brief moment I wonder if it's THAT obvious that I'm headed to a Mount Eerie show, specifically... and then I notice that everyone else on the street happens to be an old, slightly drunk Polish man. Ahh, Greenpoint.
I pay my $8 (thank Todd P for the nice price) and take a place on the floor among kids in sweaters, sipping from bottles of Jack Daniels and 24-ounce cans. And yet, the mood of the place is somewhat reverent, as everyone's eyes are trained on the three-piece on stage. FLYING's lead singer reminds me a little of Phil Ochs in tone, and it's pretty easy to zone out to the plaintive, sweet blend of three voices. A keyboard, drums, and tambourine round this trio out quite nicely, though the keyboard begins to border on the sound of a televangelist's organ. Whether this is appropriate or disturbing for the times, I have yet to decide. Finishing with a song featuring a series of yelps, FLYING end their set, and the crowd's second beer run is under way.
Todd P himself hops up on the main stage and asks us all to respect our neighbors and BYOB, which I find particularly refreshing, because we all know dude could have made some cash on alcohol sales at any show in Brooklyn. Elverum's wife, Geneviève Castrée, who performs as WOELV, takes the stage next. Armed only with a guitar, some effects pedals, and a pixie haircut, she proceeds to lull us into a state of sleepy appreciation with her French-Canadian harmonies, recorded one by one and criss-crossed with the help of a repeater pedal. It proves to be a bit much for the kids sitting on the floor with their drinks, though, and I can feel the crowd's interest waning as the set draws to a close. Still, if you're looking for something to listen to as the snow comes, WOELV would be an excellent choice.
There is some debate as to whether one should sit or stand as Phil Elverum wanders onstage, but the floor-dwellers have it, and we settle in for the Mount Eerie show. Glancing back at the movie screen behind him and watching some of the projected videos as if he's seeing them for the first time, Elverum turns back to us and says, "Okay. I'm gonna start the Mount Eerie show right... NOW." In every recording I've heard of The Microphones or Mount Eerie, the guitar inevitably draws a rumble of protest from the amps, and I'm beginning to think he likes it that way. He begins with "Log in the Waves" a track found on the 2004's live three-vinyl release Live in Copenhagen, and the task of nailing each track to a particular release becomes futile, as Elverum often acts as if The Microphones and Mount Eerie are one and the same. He barely pauses as the end of the song blurs with "Say 'Goodbye' and 'No,'" another track from the same release (or so we're led to believe).
Having never experienced this much of Phil Elverum at once, I begin to see what he is fond of, noting mention after mention of being haunted by ghosts (usually of the female persuasion), mountains, cracks in said mountains, freezing; rocks. He occasionally turns to peer at his video screen and snickers to himself, as if he had been in a rather silly mood when compiling the short clips that cycle throughout the set. We later find out that it's somewhat of an awkward sales pitch, as he offhandedly suggests we buy his new 10-inch/photography book, entitled Mount Eerie Pts. 6 & 7: "Christmas is coming up. Get one for your aunt." But the highlight of the show comes a bit earlier, as he leads the now slightly stupefied crowd in a sing-along of "I Love You So Much!" found on the 2004 Microphones release Live In Japan. Urging us to sing louder, he twists the lyrics to tease, asking "What do I love?" and answering himself tauntingly, "You don't know, do you?"
Amid groans, Elverum announces his last two songs, reminding us, "I've been playing for 39 minutes... that's a LONG time... and you guys need to have time to buy my excellent merch." I realize I paint Elverum as somewhat of a ruthless DIY salesman, but a slight lilt to his voice might as well be a wink with his words.
"You have to read my mind and sing along with me," he warns. “Log on to my brain. I'm completely open. No password or anything. When you pull down the AirPort thing, it's 'Mount Eerie Concert555." And somehow, as we slouch and smile through a chillingly fitting rendition of "Where?", it works. Everyone gets home just fine, though I suspect only one of us will be returning to Mount Eerie tonight, because these lyrics aren't nearly as helpful outside that hallowed church hall.
Mount Eerie - "Where?"