There was never any question whether I'd attend this gig, despite the fact I'd been travelling back from the Arctic for the previous 3 days, and managed only 2 hours sleep on a plane the previous night. I reviewed my first Portugal. The Man concert here, and several months later I often recall that joy. Despite the fact that I've now seen numerous other amazing acts, and attended several festivals, my original judgement stands: this is one of the very finest live experiences.
John Gourley acknowledges in this recent interview that Portugal. The Man has yet to receive widespread recognition in the UK, despite signing to a major label. The happy consequence of others' ignorance was being able to see them in an intimate venue, stood an arm's length from the stage. I've heard rave reports of their new light show in American shows, but here only the Deaf Institute's in house rig was used. Gourley said no more than 'thank-you' and 'we're Portugal. The Man from Alaska and Portland'. No jokes, no gimmicks, no encore; just the band and its fans united by a love of music.
The commitment of all five musicians is remarkable: they gave their absolute all, and it's hard to imagine how they could have physically sustained it for longer than this 65 minute set. Some acts (for example, Bon Iver) add little to their already great albums, but you really have to experience Portugal. The Man live to be hit with an irrepressible force of energy. This manifests itself in both in the instrumentals (tight, drumming, for example, hard hitting guitars), and in the on stage persona of Gourley and his colleagues. Whilst they certainly rock, I found the lyrical moments, such as in 1989 from Censored Colors to be the most moving: I love their vocal harmonising, electric fuzz and irresistibly catchy melodies.
I love the recent album In the Mountain, In The Cloud, but live they have a freer, more improvisatory quality: they have yet to make a recording which fully captures this risk taking. They opened with the incredibly upbeat So American, but the set was also generous in its selections of material from Satanic Satanist, Portugal. The Man's masterpiece. The euphoria peaked with Guns and Dogs and the closing People Say. I was completely sober (having just driven 200 miles) yet by the end of the set, I experienced an amazing high. Everything else was irrelevant: I was living in an idealised version of the present, and was so emotionally engaged that it would've been impossible for any extraneous thoughts to creep into my mind.
The rest of the audience were similarly engaged, but although there was dancing, they didn't go wild as at Cut Copy recently; perhaps mindful of this, John Gourley Tweeted, asking for the crowd at his London gig tonight to be rowdy. Still, it was the first anniversary of the explosion in my musical horizons (a momentous event in my life which occurred due to the generosity of a dear friend), and there couldn't have been a more apt way to mark it than this sublime experience. Like travel, live music allows you to see everyday life from a different perspective: priorities are put into perspective, and it has the power to make those who submit to its emotions more open, tolerant individuals.
Sorry, no video, and it was very low light for available light photography, but I will never use flash at gigs.
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