Much of indie-folk-rock’s appeal comes in its constant validation of the underdog; so to have a heavyweight champion of the genre is surely a contradiction in terms? This means Okkervil River are playing a very dangerous game indeed by sounding so undeniably huge as they do tonight: revelling in the potent and pleasurable racket that is their catalogue. However, the Texan five-piece aren’t in danger of becoming the world’s premier Indie Folk Rock™ band just yet. For one thing, in a folk fight-off, Fleet Foxes’ harmonies would trump Okkervil River’s. And, furthermore, there are plenty other bands out there, such as Arcade Fire, who inspire a sweaty melee of a crowd, rather than the restrained but enraptured appreciation that Okkervil enjoy here tonight. But few other contemporary bands (apart from maybe Wilco, who are perhaps in a league of their own) come close to embodying the distilled essence of the holy trinity that is indie, folk and rock.
Now in their thirteenth year, this gang of bookish eccentrics, led by a man who looks like Jarvis Cocker via Sheffield (Texas not South Yorkshire), are a tour-de-force in rustic, literate, and impassioned Springsteen-indebted rock ‘n’ roll. And it’s the near-perfect execution of this combination that makes seeing them live such a satisfying experience. For the majority of the night, lead singer Will Sheff exhibits an attitude towards his acoustic guitar that can only be described as abusive. And as each vicious stab at a power chord travels through the PA and sinks deep in your head, it becomes very hard not to get carried away with it all. You just can’t argue with a drummer like Okkervil River’s, one who knows that hitting his kit as hard as physically possible is the best and most efficient means of playing it. All the while, lead guitarist Lauren Gurgiolo inspires adoration by diminutively standing at the side of the stage, casually carving out riffs that evoke a barren, bloodstained landscape.
If you can listen to the strident ‘Rider’ or the unashamedly grandiose ‘The Valley’, both of which come from the latest album, in a live setting without something stirring inside your guts, put your ears on the organ donor registry. Like any indie-folk-rock act worth their salt, however, the band are just as engrossing during their more esoteric moments as when they’re going full guns blazing. Consider the waves of difference, but startling consistent quality, between the downtrodden-but-vital Americana of ‘So Come Back, I’m Waiting’, the subtle '80s disco vibe of ‘Piratess’, and the pulsing rock momentum of ‘Unless It Kicks’. Yet, maybe it’s the old adage of London audiences, or the unnecessary distance imposed between crowd and stage by the press pit barrier (quickly becoming a familiar gripe at gigs), but the crowd remains surprisingly static throughout, as if it’s their brain's doing the exercise, not their feet. Indeed, Will Sheff’s fondness for an epic lyricsheet does limit sing-alongs to strictly those with the audio equivalent of a photographic memory. But this is made less of a deal by the reality that listening to Sheff’s elongated tales of spirited woe, delivered in his distinctly neurotic style, is so hugely entertaining. Especially given that he’s a hurricane of wanton destruction, leaving a mess of spit and booze in his wake.
Those who have followed Okkervil River since their inception may feel a little alienated by the band’s growing tendency to sound more like a gushing waterfall rather than a gentle stream nowadays. The key to their longstanding success, however, is the fact it’s still the same water flowing down Okkervil’s river as before. It’s just moving at a much faster speed.