Man oh man oh man… how do I even begin to review a performance like this, by a band like this? How do I dare to try to encapsulate, translate, abbreviate, the wondrous wordsmithery of Will Sheff?

I guess I can start by admitting I love Okkervil River. I’ve been hanging out for this night for months and months, during which time I had latest album The Stage Names on constant rotation, augmented now and then by Black Sheep Boy and Down The River Of Golden Dreams. I’m the worst kind of critic: a fan, terrified of being destroyed by a bad night or a foul mood, a careless word even. I’ve more than once implored the universe that Okkervil River should not disappoint me, should not spurn my love. I wanted to feel magic. I demanded to feel magic. I NEEDED to feel magic.

I was not disappointed, not for one blissful second.

Okkervil River have been accused in disparaging tones of being some Noughties version of The Smiths; although musically a world away, they’re heralded as being the new purveyors of slit-your-wrists Mope Rock. If that was all they did, I’d still be more than happy to lay in a supply of lace-edged hankies and join the Pity Party. Yes, their songs are emotional and emotive, that’s undeniable. If you’re satisfied by brainless feel-good pop, you might want to go shopping in the next musical aisle.

Me, I’ll stay right where I am and happily be challenged and inspired in turn by Sheff’s wonderful, wonderful songs. Their painterly narratives, eschewing the classic verse-verse-chorus-verse-chorus familiar. Instead, they tell us winding and intimate tales of sickness, marital failure, prostitution and decay, several different varieties of decline, betrayal and death. Before you run screaming for the Prozac though, stick around and listen… you’ll also hear stories of love and redemption, hope, second chances and salvation. This is real life stuff, not fairytales; as Sheff sings “It’s just a life story, so there’s no climax; no more new territory, so pull away the IMAX.” The lives Sheff writes about are lives in progress; no-one knows their ending ‘til they come to it. He sings us the stories about what happens in between the beginning and the ending, the real stuff, the good and bad, the stuff that matters.

So. Performance. The first thing I noticed: there’s a lot of people on stage. Not a freakish lot, like Arcade Fire, but we’ve got two guitarists, one bass, one drummer, two keyboards, one of whom also doubles as a trumpeter who lends a little zesty cheese to the upbeat swingalong song Plus Ones. There’s no showy swapping of instruments a la Arcade Fire, however, and there doesn’t need to be… these guys have a tight and epic sound that doesn’t need gimmicks or flash. Plus, they’d be hard pressed to drag my eyes off frontman Sheff, Certified Genius, who has me open-mouthed in awe for the entire night. He’s a shaggy-mopped pale-faced man, blinkingly owlishly without his early-discarded coke-bottle specs. He smiles surprisingly often, speaks occasionally (“We’re going to play some quiet ones now, the better to hear your conversations”) and spends the balance of his time on stage singing like no-one I’ve ever heard. His voice is warm, compelling, over-whelmingly tender and breaking at times, at other times howling and shrieking, whispering and wailing. He sings like a man who is slated to be executed at sunrise, holding nothing back in reserve, pouring it all out from some miraculously bottomless vessel of heartache and love and life. Everything, from the uplifting and joyous Unless It’s Kicks, to the somber solo Title Track, gets the 100% treatment. I don’t know how he does this night after night after night; I’m just so very glad that he does.

Credit has to be given to the sound guys; there was an awful lot going on: trumpets crooning, drums pounding, piano accordians, pedal steel guitar, even a truly rocking mandolin solo (truly!), and yet Sheff’s voice was always at the fore, cutting through the racket and din like a heartsick coyote wailing under a cold Texan sky.

I could have done without the Manning’s typical bilious coloured gels that turned the band vivid purple against an emerald-green backdrop. I could have done with the smooching couple in front of me (get a room, for Christ’s sake). I can’t, however, do without Okkervil River. I’ve loved this band since I first heard Unless It’s Kicks and I love them even more now, ‘cause they gave me the magical, perfectly powerful, show that I prayed for. They came through for me, for every single person in that room. They didn’t let us down, and what more can you ask for from the one you love?

SETLIST:

1. The President’s Dead
2. Black
3. A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene
4. The Latest Toughs
5. A Girl in Port
6. Plus Ones
7. You Can’t Hold the Hand of a Rock and Roll Man
8. A Stone
9. So Come Back, I am Waiting
10. John Allyn Smith Sails
11. Our Life Is Not a Movie Or Maybe
12. For Real
13. Unless It’s Kicks

ENCORE 1:

1. It Ends With a Fall
2. Okkervil River Song

ENCORE 2:

1. Title Track
2. Westfall