Bon Iver. Picture not from last night.

A highly-anticipated double bill resulted in a sold out show at Holocene last night. Much of the crowd was there to pay homage to Bon Iver, the hipster’s folksinger of choice at the moment, due to a remarkably good album he recorded in the dead of winter of Wisconsin, in between chopping down trees and skinning bear carcasses. Phosphorescent, meanwhile, has acquired the mantle of songwriter savant, with dedicated fans eagerly anticipating his powerful, emotional songs. It was an eventful, nourishing night of music.

Lots, lots more after the jump.

White Hinterland took the stage first, the project of songwriter Casey Dienel, who possesses a quirky, childlike voice that has moments of real power. She started off plonking on a ukulele, and at first I thought to myself, oh god, here we go. But when she began to sing, her voice was utterly captivating. And the song was gorgeous, with thoughtful lyrics about walking on a lawn, or something. I don't remember exactly. Anyway, it didn't last. She moved onto the electric piano for the rest of the set, and played jazzy chords that shimmered with vibrato. Her melodies picked difficult, dissonant notes and at first I thought she had lost control of her powerful voice, but it seems she selected those notes that jutted out like sharp angles on purpose. Her friend accompanied her on violin and accordion, which I didn't think particularly added anything to the set. She mentioned she had a cookbook for sale, which included illustrations drawn when she was drunk, which is sort of adorable, and kind of useless--and that's pretty much how I felt about her music.

Bon Iver came next, and the inner room at Holocene was absolutely stuffed to capacity. A very well-behaved crowd (Portland does have such a thing) listened intently to Justin Vernon's aching falsetto. It was particularly illuminating to see Bon Iver function as an actual band (a three-piece, with Vernon accompanied by drums and baritone guitar), since the songs on For Emma, Forever Ago are defined by their sense of isolation. They took on new life in the ensemble format; the room couldn't have been happier than when Vernon let rip a couple guitar solos. He was surprised by how appreciative and attentive the crowd was. "You guys are really great." So are you! someone responded. "All the coolest people in Portland are in this room right now," he told us. Fuck Jens Lekman! some idiot shouted. (Oops, was that me?)

The crowd thinned significantly when Phosphorescent took the stage just before midnight. This is the second show in a row I've been to where the second act was a bigger draw than the headliner. Anyway, Phosphorescent has been touring as a trio, but tonight it was a one-man show. Matt Houck of Phosphorescent apparently had an awful time getting to Portland. He told us the story, and I'll paraphrase it here (these are all my words, not Houck's):

My band's still in California. I just got here. I landed about an hour ago. Our van broke down in San Francisco, so we called the tow truck to take it to the mechanic. We had all of our gear and the tow truck driver said, "Oh, don't worry, I'll tie it all down." ...Anyway, he didn't do exactly that. so we were driving through San Francisco which is, uh, kinda hilly... anyway, when the mechanic finally looked at it, which took all day, he said, "The engine's gone. It's not worth replacing. The van's a loss." So we ended up getting a rental van. We drove the rental down the busy street to where we left the first van, and started moving everything from the broken van to the new van, blocking traffic with our blinkers on. So the plan is, the band will drive the new van, and I'll jump on a plane to get to Portland on time to do the show by myself. So, I leave the guys and catch a cab about six blocks away, head to the airport with barely enough time to catch the flight. At this point, my cell phone is totally dead--this is important to the story. Anyway, about twenty minutes later, we're getting closer to the airport, and I start to breathe a little easier... Wow, I'm going to make it. It's going to be all right. Then I reach down into my pocket, and I realize I have, there in my pocket, the keys for the rental van...

So Houck did a solo turn, and he was noticeably frazzled. Meanwhile, his low-tuned guitar did not cooperate, constantly needing to be adjusted to keep the pitch. I'm guessing it got banged around some in the tow truck. He used Bon Iver's gear otherwise, and somehow, against every odd, wrung out a breathtaking set. He opened with "Wolves," moved onto "Joe Tex," using simple guitar phrases and his mournful, woolly howl to create fragile, powerful laments. The two highlights were "I Am a Full Grown Man (I Will Lay in in the Grass All Day)" and "South of America," which shimmered with careful optimism and a fatal sense of longing. The set closed with Houck looping himself with falsetto vocal phrases, then introducing guitar lines and distortion, growing thicker and messier with each repetition. It eventually turned into a wash of blurry sound, and I thought its incoherence lasted a little too long, but the rest of the crowd seemed enraptured and Houck was definitely exorcising some of the stress of his journey to Portland.