At first sight and sound, it’s nearly impossible to avoid getting caught up in the euphoric spirit of a Mumford & Sons gig. Last night at the Barclays Center, the London quartet strode out on stage like a band that had been slaying arenas for decades, rather than the mere 18 months it’s taken them to ascend to music’s A-list. Opening with driving, dynamic versions of “Babel” and “I Will Wait,” they left the Brooklyn audience (almost all white and over 25) instantly gratified, singing along to the choruses with a celebratory zeal. If it had been a 15-minute show, this review would have been far more complimentary.
Unfortunately, Mumford & Sons is proving to be the sort of band that takes a couple of core ideas and runs them into the ground. It’s certainly the case with its discography to date — 2009’s debut, “Sigh No More,” was a rustic anomaly that came to prominence among the synthetic sounds that regularly dominate the Top 40. Even if the music didn’t appeal, there was an underdog appeal to the album’s success.
Last year’s follow-up, “Babel,” however, repeated the watered-down folk and bluegrass formula and seemed to point at the band’s unwillingness (or inability) to do anything new.
Watching them in action is like seeing that career trajectory played out in the space of just under two hours. After the initial rush, boredom was quick to set in, and dreary songs such as “Hopeless Wanderer” and “Awake My Soul” exposed the the rigidness of their sound. There is undoubtedly a charm in seeing such an unlikely rock star as Marcus Mumford on stage. With his waistcoat, mustache and side parting, he looks more like he should be playing a messenger boy in a Civil War re-enactment than rocking 18,000 people a night. But even his earnestness and niceties wore thin rapidly.
There were odd brief moments of redemption, particularly the dark and unexpectedly powerful version of “Thistle & Weeds” that enveloped the venue in an arresting feeling of doom and flexed the muscles that few realize the band has. But the longer Mumford & Sons played, the more the group seemed like the McDonald’s of folk music: processed banjos, bland acoustic guitars and by-the-numbers choruses reconstituted for mass consumption. It was enjoyable at first but unsatisfying and unmemorable in the long run.
Next Tuesday, the band will return to the Barclays Center for a second show. By that time, it will probably be a few more Grammys better off and sitting on another few hundred-thousand album sales to boot.
Its old-timey bandwagon is obviously not one that might derail anytime soon, but the repetitive feel of the band’s journey is beginning to get tiresome. I think I’m getting off at the next stop.