Live review: Destroyer, last night at RecordBar

It’s scary to write about Dan Bejar and his two-decades-running project, Destroyer. He’s one of our best lyricists, a magician who pulls fragments of conversation from the air and twists them into poetry. He also seems to possess what I’d consider a healthy amount of contempt for music criticism, as evidenced by cutting lyrics like I sent a message in a bottle / to the press / It said don’t be ashamed or disgusted with yourselves. And, in interviews, Bejar tends to reject others’ notions about his songs. For example, much of Destroyer’s 2015 record, Poison Season, sounds, to my ears, like a woozy, alienated version of late ‘70s Springsteen. He strongly disagrees. This is a guy who makes super-rich, complex, seemingly labored-over albums. And yet he says he records vocals while lying on a couch or making sandwiches.

If it is not already obvious, I love Destroyer for the above reasons, and for the plain fact that Bejar’s output never lands anywhere outside “pretty good” and “masterpiece.” He’s got a new record out, released last fall, called ken. Sonically, it’s closer to 2010’s synth-jazz miracle Kaputt than it is to the wild and wordy Poison Season. There are some New Order-y types of songs, some Smiths tones. Saxophones lurk around corners, adding mood. When I put on ken, or Kaputt, I see a wintry, 1980s urban grit, steam rising out of manholes, dim streetlights, a guy curled up on a cardboard box. I am super into this vibe.

On Wednesday, Bejar brought a seven-piece band to Kansas City and performed a surprisingly rowdy show for about 200 of us at RecordBar. I’d heard recently that Bejar played to 50 people last year at Cafe Berlin, in Columbia, so I was concerned about turnout. I’m happy to report that, here in the big city, Destroyer is a bigger draw. Lots of familiar faces in the crowd. The Good People have not forgotten that a Destroyer show in Kansas City is a special occasion.

Bejar opened things up with “Sky’s Grey,” the first track on ken. The song contains wonderful lines I don’t understand like Give up acting? / Fuck no! / I’m just starting to get the good parts and ends with Bejar repeating the phrase I’ve been working on the new Oliver Twist over and over again. As the song crescendoed, and Bejar’s vocal services were no longer required, he crouched down on his knee and sipped his Pacifico while the band carried the song out. He did this throughout the set. Unless you were in the front row, the only time you really saw Bejar was when he was singing. He kept his microphone stand maybe a foot-and-a-half off the ground. Not including songs, he said less than 20 words to the audience the entire night. It was probably the best show I have seen in a year.

The current Destroyer band has several members besides Bejar who are interesting to watch perform. Most obvious is the trumpet player, a man in a fedora and sport jacket whose dreamy solos supplied the show’s overriding aura. The bass player had a tiny ponytail sticking out beneath a tiny beanie, and wore tiny, gold sunglasses, and a gold chain over a black turtleneck. The rubbery grooves he was laying down were often nasty enough to cause dozens of people I would have pegged as arms-crossers to make a commotion near the front of the stage. There was also a guitar player who was absolutely guzzling beers throughout the show. Mad respect to this band. They whooshed in like a thunderstorm and never let up. Respect, too, to whoever was running sound for keeping the mix tight.

Songs: lots of ken, a handful from Kaputt (“Suicide Demo for Kara Walker,” “Chinatown”) and Poison Season (“Times Square”), a few more obscure cuts for the old heads, like “Rubies,” which they closed with. I told the person I was standing next to that I doubted there would be an encore. The idea of an encore seemed, to me, like a convention Bejar might find silly. But out they came for a howling version of “Bay of Pigs.”

Bejar hadn’t cracked one single smile up there the entire night, but after he bowed, and before he stepped off the stage, he gazed out into the middle distance and flashed a quick one. Maybe he’d had a good time, maybe he was just happy it was all over. Either way, we were grateful.