Melting faces in Philly

‘ ‘ ‘ In general, we tend to sectionalize our lives based on major events that we experience…. ‘ ‘ ‘ In general, we tend to sectionalize our lives based on major events that we experience. These life-altering moments include our births, getting a driver’s license, the first time we had sex, the first time we had good sex, marriage, kids, the first time we saw a My Morning Jacket concert and then death.’ ‘ ‘ ‘ What, you ask, is with that second to last one? And what the heck is a morning jacket? ‘ ‘ ‘ The answers to your questions are, respectively, the best live show (except for Radiohead and an assortment of Grateful Dead-related bands, arguably) in the world today and the band that plays said show. ‘ ‘ ‘ This band sounds like a big deal, right? Well, it is. And it utterly and completely rocked my world last Friday night. My knees are still shaking. ‘ ‘ ‘ First, some background: My Morning Jacket is a quintet from Louisville, Ky. The band’s first three albums, including the superb It Still Moves, sounded like an amped-up, trippy version of The Allman Brothers on way more hallucinogenic drugs. Then came 2005’s Z, which took the whole shebang and made it sound like The Allman Brothers playing a carnival on Mars. Then MMJ dropped Evil Urges this summer and blew up the whole sound ‘mdash; the record rocks like Prince fronting a band of groovy space aliens with a wicked librarian fetish (check the tune ‘Librarian’). ‘ ‘ ‘ Now a lot (note: A LOT) has been made about the band’s live show, namely this summer’s monstrous three-hour-plus set at Bonnaroo. So it’s an understatement to say that I was excited when my girlfriend spotted that they’d be playing in Philadelphia. ‘ ‘ ‘ As usually happens with this type of trip, we left almost an hour late after waiting for a friend to ‘make some lunch, guys.’ He exited his house with a microwaved hot dog on a piece of wheat bread and hopped in the car, naturally prompting thoughts of, ‘What the hell took so long?” ‘ ‘ ‘ Nonetheless, we were soon on our way across the great state of Pennsylvania ‘mdash; five hours of indistinct highway and two sleeping passengers. How exciting! ‘ ‘ ‘ After dropping off the hot dog friend outside of Philadelphia, we jetted to try and find the Festival Pier, an outdoor venue jutting out into the Delaware River. The keyword here is ‘try,’ as we hiked up and down the riverfront listening closely for anything that resembled rock. ‘ ‘ ‘ Finally, and only 45 minutes late, we arrived at the show, got frisked by security, prompting the usual, ‘It’s an insulin needle, sir. I promise. I’m a diabetic.’ We then bought obscenely expensive beers and waded into the audience. ‘ ‘ ‘ The crowd, quite literally, looked like a writhing sea of dancing and vibrating limbs. I immediately knew we were in for something special. ‘ ‘ ‘ The setup at Festival Pier is simply massive, a gargantuan cage of steel beams encasing a long, deep stage, and My Morning Jacket owned the space well. Singer Jim James’ soulful white-boy howl and his monstrously twisting duel guitar attack with Carl Broemel hit like a hurricane of funk as the band tore through tracks new and old. It was punk rock-show intensity with full orchestra finesse. ‘ ‘ ‘ After picking up round two of the brews and relocating to a better vantage point, the band hit its stride. As many of the crowd members were flying high on any number of psychedelics and wiggling appropriately, I felt right at home busting out what was probably some of the most embarrassing and awesome dancing of my long dancing career (which peaked when I was 13 and regularly attending Bar Mitzvahs). ‘ ‘ ‘ The band was nothing short of hypnotic, and as it started to rain, the scene verged on perfection. ‘ ‘ ‘ I turned to a long-haired gentleman dancing to my right and said, ‘You’re loving this, aren’t you?’ ‘ ‘ ‘ To that he said, ‘My hair looks like Kurt Cobain!’ ‘ ‘ ‘ Perfection, for the record, would’ve been reached if he instead responded with, ‘Yes, I am loving this. Jim James is my cousin. Let’s go backstage!’ ‘ ‘ ‘ When the band hit the climax of the eight-minute, more-epic-than-‘Titanic’ song ‘Dondante,’ it felt as if a bomb had just exploded onstage spraying guitar shrapnel over the crowd. And it just kept coming, hour after hour, through the near-jokey but still-awesome thunder punch of ‘Highly Suspicious’ to the finale of ‘One Big Holiday,’ a roaring guitar blitzkrieg that made even the manliest dude in the crowd shriek with glee.’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ So what’s the point of all this gushing? Well, last week I wrote how rock’n’roll had taken a severe hit from music’s equivalent of Natty Light, Kid Rock. And I’m happy to say now that, no, rock is not dead. Sometimes it’s just hiding. ‘ ‘ ‘ One more thing ‘mdash; My Morning Jacket’s next show is in California on Sept. 19. If you buy the ticket now and start hitchhiking, you just might make it.