If rock and roll is dead, someone forgot to tell the guys in Manchester Orchestra. The Atlanta based quintet took the stage at The Marquee Theater in Tempe, AZ with the low-key, yet self-assured swagger appropriate of post- Jagger rock and rollers, and if the crowd was at all waning after two opening bands, they were immediately revived by the infectious energy of the headliners.
Making one’s way through a Manchester Orchestra Spotify session can take a listener bouncing through muted power-chords prototypical of late 90s pop-punk, pounding through hard-rock numbers that inspire the urge to remove the sleeves from one’s denim jacket and then plummeting to smooth sailing on wailing ballads. With their new album, Cope, (which the current tour is promoting) however, they’ve decided to “make the kind of album that’s missing at this time in rock: something that’s just brutal and pounding you over the head every track… This album was about being cool with dedicating yourself to something and sticking through it,” according to the band’s press release. The show managed to take the audience through the entire gamut of the listening experience while keeping true to the message and vibe of the album.
Head pounding jams shifted seamlessly to songs of lament, somehow never completely losing the underlying steam of the band’s ferocity. Lead singer Andy Hull’s nasal croon, distinct and haunting, seems better suited to the realm of college radio friendly folk, but somehow lives outside barriers, deleting them completely in live performance. He sings songs that he shouldn’t conceivably be able to sing and somehow makes it work. The band is not unlike the majestic beard that Hull wears, always projecting the societally contradicting ideals of masculinity and sensitivity all in one breath. They rock hard even when they rock soft.
It’s not difficult to see why Manchester Orchestra’s following has been snow-balling over recent years. “There are 1500 people here; last time there were only 500,” Hull quipped to the sold out crowd between songs.
As they finished out their encore set with “Where Have You Been?” the crowd, voices in chorus with Hull’s, became a sea of Bic flames. Yes, Bic flames. The modern equivalent, the synthetic glow of the cell phone screen, had a small presence, muscled out by the raw and true flames of the rock and roll purists. After the last chord was strummed and last note sung, Hull leaned tenderly into the mic leaving his final words to the 1500 Arizonans who had come out on a Wednesday night to spend the evening with him, his band and his music: “That was magical.”
