The Ark, traditionally a “listening room,” at the request of The Oh Hellos, tried something a bit different: to the right and left of the stage they had marked designated dance floors. Considering the liveliness of the two bands and the youthfulness of the crowd, this was for the best–had they not sanctioned it, it likely still would have occurred. But these “dance floors” containing a couple dozen people were not enough to fundamentally shift the character of The Ark; most patrons remained sitting in the various rows and clusters of chairs.
The opening act was a lively folk group called The Collection. They were good on their own merit, but as an opening, they were particularly well-suited to playing for a band like The Oh Hellos. Their sound had a way of going crazy, with all sorts of instruments chiming in, all sorts of different noises forming a cohesive whole. They had eight members on stage switching between various instruments–from saxophones to keyboards–and great enthusiasm. The audience would clap along during their songs and explode in a chorus of hooting and clapping in between songs. It was evident that some members were not being freshly exposed to this group, but I think many were experiencing them for the first time. Furthermore, unlike The Oh Hellos, they had not played in Ann Arbor before.
Still, when The Oh Hellos came on, it was no question that it was their show. They started off with some of their more recent songs from the album Dear Wormwood, but as the night went on, older hits like “Hello My Old Heart” and “In the Valley” crept in, much to the audience’s delight. Their music oscillated between softly sung melodies and swingin’ stompin’ folk; at times, one would be leaning in, basking in the intimacy of the moment between the singer and herself, and in the next, with a little rise, a little warning, one would find oneself stampeded with the fury of sound, with the dumping of emotion. The whole band had a way of getting in to it–the various string players, when there was no easy way to prance around at the front of the stage, would stomp and jump and shake in the island between the drummers and the singers. This gave off the impression that they weren’t behaving like this as part of the performance, that it wasn’t for our benefit, but because this was their natural response, this was how they played their music and how it made them feel. Even the least mobile musicians, like the drummers, would get as much into it as they could.
In brief interludes between songs, The Oh Hellos would chat a bit, banter here and there, and just be generally funny–yet, something was off. There was clearly some discomfort among them in regards to how different this audience was from previous ones. A handful of times they told the seated audience that if they wished, they could get up and dance, but no one took the bait. They played to a room of primarily sitting people and although it was clear that the audience loved them, the energy was not the same. Even among those standing in the “dance floors,” the energy was lackluster compared to what it might have been if the whole venue was standing and dancing along (they did, at least, manage to sing along). The Ark is not a stage for this kind of livelihood–The Ark, as they love to talk about, offers amazing acoustics, but their venue is designed in a way that encourages passive listening, sitting and maybe clapping, the kind of listening where you get to bask in the glory of the music but not participate yourself. For its usual older audience, this might be acceptable, but when a band like The Oh Hellos comes to town who rely on the audience’s energy and want to have that kind of interaction, The Ark is simply not suited to their performance (even if they’re a folk band), no matter how many “dance floors” they designate.
