When the Rev last played Dublin - in October - they seemed like rabbits caught in the headlights, frozen by the glare of sudden acclaim. In the past three months, however, it seems that the band from Buffalo, New York, have had time to adjust.
It's Saturday night, and the Red Box is rammed for the first major gig of 1999. Expectations are high, buoyed by the brilliance of the band's new album, Deserter's Songs. However, the anticipation is tempered by a slight doubt, a suspicion that Mercury Rev's ethereal sound might float over the assembled heads and disappear into the stratosphere.
But when Jonathan Donahue, Sean "Grasshopper" Mackiowiak and the rest of the band glide gracefully into the opening song, The Funny Bird, it's apparent that this flimsy avant-garage craft is really gonna fly. Caught in laser-light relief against a star-encrusted mountain backdrop, Mercury Rev positively soared; if a giant mother-ship had suddenly appeared from behind, it couldn't have been more transporting than the music.
Holes was positively trenchant, while Opus 40 was a hundred per cent magnificent, the guitars, keyboards and drums reaching near-classical cohesion and almost orchestral strength. Endlessly sounded like an Appalachian Christmas, its eerie, bowed saw conjuring up a lonely coyote's wail and its melody magically evoking Silent Night.
There was just time for one more swoop around the horizon, courtesy of the hard-edged Meth Of A Rockette's Kick and a version of Cortez The Killer which would have brought a smile to Neil Young's craggy features. Sublime alchemy indeed.
