I was with my younger sister at the time, and she frantically rushed toward the DJ tent, attempting to clue them in on the situation. Suddenly the music ceased, and beneath locks of cascading black curls, Bejar began belting out the cryptic and captivating "Your Blood."
My sister hurried back, and we gratefully listened as Bejar careened through the verses, crooning like a young Bob Dylan. The audience was a strange beast, continually chatting as if in a high school cafeteria. But as Bejar played "Your Blood's" final note, everyone cheered vigorously.
Bejar didn't seem to mind the chatter, and between swigs from his water bottle, he performed the catchy "The Temple," followed by the lamenting "In Dreams." Occasionally, the flash from a snapped photo would cast an imposing and augmented shadow of Bejar, who was framed against the stark white tent.
Despite the constant hum of voices, I was able to feel a certain mystique emanating from the musician, and his unadorned surroundings made the austere songs even more powerful.
With little between song banter, Bejar strode on, performing a number of crowd favorites such as "European Oils" and "Foam Hands," the latter being my favorite of the night. It was a plaintive and moving ballad, exhibiting a haunting melody which carefully tread along a simple but enchanting chord progression.
In a rather startling transition, Bejar followed "Foam Hands" with a comic and mistake-ridden performance of "Streets of Fire." After fumbling with the chords, he paused for a moment and said with a laugh, "This must be a New Pornographers song I don't know how to play." Nevertheless, Bejar continued the song with the audience cheering.
The last quarter of the set featured "Painter in Your Pocket," "Farrar, Straus, and Giroux (Sea of Tears)" and "The Chosen Few," which Bejar introduced as a commentary on class structure.
His final song was "Don't Become the Thing You Hated," a cautionary but robust tune about Strathcona, a neigborhood in Bejar's hometown of Vancouver, which was part of an urban renewal prgram in the 1950's, and has since been heavily gentrified. Needless to say it was an interesting choice for a finale, but with the song's boisterous shouts of "Let them in!" Bejar left the crowd applauding for more.
After the show I managed to duck around the back of the tent and speak to Bejar for a few fleeting moments. He seemed a little edgy, and was surprised I wanted to talk to him. I asked him how he thought the show went, and he said, "I think it went okay, I don't do a lot of solo shows." I immediately felt bad, wondering if he was hurt by the talkative crowd.
I decided not to harp on the subject any longer and left, wishing him luck with his future gigs. Whether or not the crowd got to him I can't know, but out of respect for Bejar, and any other musician who makes the effort to play a show (especially a free show), I will say this: Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
