A warm July evening in the park with the Decemberists

It’s not often you hear a pop or rock band drop words such as tryst and pachyderm with the same matter of factness rappers spray f-bombs - much less rhyme verandah with Miranda.

Such are the ways of The Decemberists. Named after a Russian revolt from the 1920s and hailing from Portland, Oregon this is what passes for orchestral pop these days - and that’s a good thing.

And while I heard they once opened for a hip-hop act at a New Year’s Eve party back home, there is no truth to the the rumor The Decemberists have a running feud with the archly literate The Junes, who prefer Southern Gothic to Euro-lit.

While still fey, the Decemberists’ thang is way more tolerable than Yes or Emerson, Lake and Palmer or other groups from the 70s that used cellos, spun pianos and evoked elves and fairies. It’s mopey, to be sure, and the soundtrack for mopey college kids who actually read books, not only for the joy of it, but to impress possible sex partners into bed.

The crowd was thick with such pale people Wednesday night in Millennium Park. the older brothers and sisters of the Naperville kids heading to the Harry Potter night, no doubt. The air was thick, too, but that’s Chicago in July. They should have sat the audience by how they scored on their ACT or SAT tests. The dumb ones would be in the back in their hand-me-down AC/DC t-shirts.

The band played with the Grant Park Symphony, so there was a program that treated the performance as if were REALLY IMPORTANT AND SERIOUS - like Mozart or Elvis Costello in one of his moods.

We know this because a full page listed the compositions to be played and band leader Colin Meloy listed as composer.

Meloy does have a way with a melody, though he seems to borrow a bit from “Losing My Religion” era REM with a touch of Talking Heads thrown in for good measure. And you know he wants to write an opera, or at the very least one of those bittersweet musicals like Stephen Sondheim even if he occasionally, dangerously veers into Neil Diamond "I Am I Said" territory.

This may sound mocking, but it’s not. I can mope with the best of them and this is perfect music for staying in such a mood.

Case in point, this lyric: It was ten years on when you resurfaced in a motor car. And with a wave of an arm, you were there and gone.

Now who the hell hasn’t been there? OK, the song is called “The Bagman’s Gambit” and is about some sad sack pining over a robber or spy he helped out who shot a cop and is holed up back in Russia. And your not really sure if he’s singing about a chick or a dude, because he’s all arty and singing from his nose. And who the fuck calls a car a motor car?

Now that part, while evocative ain’t necessarily a universal experience. But missing someone you really should be glad is gone is.

Alone is a crowd of smart kids, the rain falling, humid like a Russian bath. Oh God - I’m writing Decemberist lyrics.

I better cleanse the palette with some Ramones before I take up painting and start wearing thrift shop suits.

There are worse things.