You would never think to describe the Decemberists as swaggering. The Portland, Oregon-based quintet dress smartly, address their fans politely and craft melodically robust, literary-minded songs that sometimes expand into storytelling suites. But there’s an undeniable self-confidence at the core of what they do. It might explain why, soon after achieving their first US No 1 album, with 2011’s The King Is Dead – the result of a decade of graft – they opted to take a career break.
Four years later, they’re back, seemingly unfazed but recharged, with a sumptuous, baroquely titled seventh album, What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World. Though their live show could be forgivably rusty, bandleader Colin Meloy starts strong and maintains a declamatory forcefulness over the course of a celebratory two-hour set.
By the second song, 16 Military Wives, he is revelling in his power as a choirmaster – Meloy even resembles a slightly more pumped-up version of Gareth Malone. Conducting an audience round of the “lah-dee-dah” chorus, he demands specific variations. “Now whisper it,” he instructs, before taking it even quieter: “Now just think it!”
Within the robust Decemberists songwriting framework there’s a pleasing variety to the sound and a much broader vocabulary than in most folk-influenced indie. Jenny Conlee toggles between keyboard and accordion, and there’s room for mandolin and banjo while Meloy croons about bagatelles and curlews. The new songs, notably the hook-filled Make You Better, sound triumphant, and are warmly received.
While pre-major-label REM remains a big reference point, there are other echoes: The Wrong Year has a touch of kd lang’s Constant Craving, while Calamity Song features some of the best packmate howls since Warren Zevon’s Werewolves of London. Meloy even splices a few lines from This Charming Man into The Sporting Life, a decade-old song that still sounds pleasingly spry.
They finish with The Mariner’s Revenge Song, a tall tale told from the point of view of a sailor trapped inside a whale, unfurling the shaggy dog story of how he ended up there, with dapper bassist Nate Query miming frantic rowing with an enormous bull fiddle. It’s a maritime epic that requires cued crowd screaming, the sort of fevered audience participation more commonly associated with the panto, and is a fitting shanty climax.
• At Academy, Bristol (08444 77 1000) 16 February, then touring in UK until 21 February.
