The brothers were joined by long time bassist and friend Bob Crawford as well as cellist Joe Kwon. The group has been on the road nearly non-stop since April. They have to be tired and to be sure, they played parts of the show with their tongues hanging out, especially early when focus was low and instrument tuning seemed out of reach. Four songs in, during an otherwise gripping version of "Tear Down the House" and alone on stage with his brother, Scott Avett's left hand was on the pegs of his banjo as much as the fret board.
But the brothers have talent to burn, and in performance they clearly want the fire to burn. While it was hard to not be distracted by technical stumbles, it was impossible to hold it against them.
The best thing that ever happened to the Avett Brothers' music was when it fell on def ears. As in Rick Rubin, the co-founder of Def Jam Records. The original Beastie Boys DJ, Rubin is also the giant of a man who put the likes of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Tom Petty, and Metallica on his shoulders and carried them into the end zone of commercial success. He put the AED paddles to Johnny Cash's third career run, by way of Cash's American Recordings series shortly before his death.
With the Avetts' latest release, I and Love and You, Rubin has transformed the rowdy North Carolina house players into Important Musicians. Last night's rendering of "January Wedding" was a show stopper, a heart-bending blend of banjo and finger-picked guitar, with the brothers trading leads throughout, just the slightest trace of difference in their tone, and in doing so layering the smallest sliver of emotional change from one verse to the next.
This passing of lead singing from Scott to Seth and back again is my favorite part of the Avetts' style. In concert the effect is amplified since seeing is believing. During "Tin Man," Scott scooted behind the drum kit, beating time and belting out his verses with the ballsy nonchalance of Levon Helm. The brothers turned the song into a Lazy Susan, as if seated across the dinner table from each other, spinning the tray, enjoying the wait for their next turn. Daring each other to help themselves to another serving of the flavorful song.
Rubin's potent touch has guided the brothers' mood away from the mountain tops, but the center of their sound is never far from the belly of the copper still. "I and Love and You" mixes love and danger the way the greatest laments have always done. On this breath-taking number Seth Avett's keyboard work slashed back and forth from dream to dagger.
Bob Dylan said all songwriting is metaphor. This approach is well kept in Dylan's hands. The Avetts', too. But in music metaphors are not always lyrics-based. They can be instrumental, too. This brings us to the cello. For many, the cello is an essential part of the Avett ethos. For me it's too precious. Call me shallow. Maybe it's over my head. But the groaning bow, the piercing plucked notes, they're uninvited relatives at a family funeral, as out of place as powdered sugar on chunks of coal.
So it's not surprising that my favorite songs were with the original trio on stage -- or at least with the cello restrained.
A long delay, perhaps four minutes, from main set to three-song encore provided authentic drama reflective of the entire evening. Scott Avett's voice, so pure, powerful and clean, ripped and howled at each measure's end during the broken tempo of "The Perfect Space." It hissed like a cymbal, tore in two like a bed sheet. His vocal tics provided gorgeous, emotional flaws that fussed in the most alluring ways with the otherwise perfectly rendered music of the country's most muscular young indie act.
Nicole Atkins and the Black Sea opened the show, her strong voice in search of a good song.