My Morning Jacket Prom Redux

My Morning Jacket's bringing prom back in a big way. At least that was the sense after they concluded their two night extravaganza at the 40 Watt in Athens, Georgia. Entitled "Oh What a Night Under the Sea," the affair was replete with trappings that both celebrated and sent up the adolescent rite of passage. For five bucks you and your sweetheart could have your photo taken on one side of the room, afterward mozying over to the other side for free cake. Under the mirror ball, paper streamers, and balloons, prom-goers were decked to the nines in traditional satin and outrageous marine accoutrements. Two guys in front of me stuck a sartorial balance as Steve Zissou and his dapper band--in tuxes with crimson flannels caps. They were rather staid in a dry aquarium of snorkels, goggles, shrimpers' boots, Spongebob costumes, and vestigial fins.

Sonically, the show was about longevity and amperage. A speaker was blown the first night, and my PBR tallboy was humming with reverb. The attraction of an MMJ show is the joy the band feels in its music. They clearly love their own catalogue, as well as just bonafide rock 'n' roll, and it becomes kinetic in the room. What they're doing on stage looks like it might be the only that feels better than sex. Music avalanches through the soundscape, orbited by tangential notes and stray sounds not the least of which is Jim James' paranormal wailing. Until half a dozen song deep when he welcomed us to Prom 2007, you couldn't be sure James even spoke English.

Both nights' sets consisted mainly of the Z album and the jam-friendly backsides of songs from It Still Moves. "Off the Record" crushed the building. Other highlights were dilated versions of "Mahgeetah," "One Big Holiday," "Wordless Chorus," and "What a Wonderful Man." Anouncing it was time for an "all skate," James slowed it down and surrendered the focus to Carl Broemel's mournful pedal steel. A Prom king and queen were picked out of a hat and invited on stage to dance as the band played Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight," skewing the lyrics toward transvestism. Noticing the "backdoor" theme of the gut-wrenching "Phone Went West," they guy next to me asserted that it was about tertiary sexual entryways.

(Mp3 on the other side)

The individual encores made the shows. The band returned to the stage Tuesday night with King Harvest's "Dancing in the Moonlight," roundly agreed upon as the best two and a half minutes of 2007. Rumors about MMJ's epic Bonnaroo shows circulated, and there was a growing sense in the crowd that they might play anything--launch into, say, a psyched-out Moody Blues cover at any moment--and play all night long. The second show's encore emphasized the classic subtheme of the engagement. Those silver plastic pompadours the band was wearing the previous night were evoked as James vaulted into a pitch-perfect cover of The Four Seasons' late hit "December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night)." Following it was a blistering rendition of "Johnny B. Goode" the likes of which Chuck Berry hasn't touched in thirty years. The bumpious hipsters in the audience immediately drew the connecting line to Michael J. Fox's mythical prom, when in a bit of postmodern new historicism Marty McFly's cover becomes the source for Berry's genius. They may not have understood the second line, the one less about ludicrousness and fun and more about pure rock homage. To close Wednesday night's show, MMJ brought up the opening band and fellow denizens of Louisville, Follow the Train, and together they opened up Tommy James and the Shondells' "Crimson and Clover" wide enough to let their roaring guitars in.

Personally, I found the first act of the first night and the second of the second most satisfying. The first night, for one, had the novelty of spectacle built in. The encore of the second night, aka "The Revenge," speaks for itself. There were mitigating factors with the opening half of that show, like regularly being hit in the head with beach balls, balloons, and blow-up sex dolls in bikinis. Irrelative the night, you left with that hyper, emboldened feeling of a special kind of art. Miraculously, now you might just know kung fu. The world might be ready to yield. And music like this might be the only thing that matters.

From Z: