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Review of Death Cab for Cutie/The Postal Service, All Points East: A paradise for nostalgics in their thirties

The sound of 2003 was the feather-light yearning of Ben Gibbard, the nasal frontman of Death Cab for Cutie and the blueprint for every proto-softboi with an unrequited crush and headphones constantly on. Between Transatlanticismthe band's fourth album, with hazy indie-rock balladry and the light electronica of his short-lived but cherished side project The Postal Service, Gibbard created a safe space for a general kind of young-adult melancholy. On paper, it feels doomed – even wrong, somehow – to take him out of a world where Garden State and Seth Cohen and move it to 2024. And yet here we are: Gibbard and his bands performing in front of a sea of ​​nostalgic fans in their thirties at London's All Points East Festival: noughties minimalism transplanted to a vast field in Victoria Park. Somehow it works.

On this 20th anniversary tour, Gibbard plays both Transatlanticism and the only record of the postal service Give up in full length one after the other, interrupted by a 15-minute break. For the first set, Gibbard and the rest of Death Cab are dressed all in black, and interaction with the audience is kept to a minimum. Transatlanticism is ostensibly about a long-distance relationship, but many of the lyrics fit well with a show celebrating a bygone era. “There would be no distance that could hold us back,” repeats the bridge of the anthemic show opener “The New Year,” with Gibbard speaking directly to a crowd amidst an acoustic journey through time.

Highlights of the first 45-minute set include the lively “The Sound of Settling” with its upbeat hand-clap chorus and the blissful “We Looked Like Giants”. It is the Start Number of the evening – a song about nostalgia in a show that is all about nostalgia – and aptly dedicated to Death Cab's noughties compatriots The Decemberists, who had performed earlier in the day.

After the break, Gibbard returns to the stage – all dressed in white now – along with his Postal Service colleague Jimmy Tamborello and musician Jenny Lewis, who Give up his ethereal backing vocals. Gibbard and Lewis are a funny pair of opposing forces on stage – think math geek and earth goddess – the latter spinning Stevie Nicks-style and cooing softly, the former shuffling lightly on his feet beside her.

Every line from Lewis elicits cheers. “Such Great Heights,” a synthpop track so full of urgency and heart-rate beeps that it was once described as the Grey's Anatomy The title song is an early spectacle. So is the back-and-forth between Gibbard and Lewis on “Nothing Better,” a moody wallow in breakup boredom. Give up is unfortunately a slightly more front-heavy album than Transatlanticismmeaning it's a track-by-track setlist that drops from track to track, so it's no surprise that the encore is an acoustic reprise of “Such Great Heights,” followed by a smash of a cover of Depeche Mode's “Enjoy the Silence.”

Tears flow in the crowd, groups of people dance, and memories are rekindled. The show as a whole is also a reminder of Gibbard's endurance. His moment of cultural ubiquity spawned a thousand pale imitators, every chump with a synth briefly thought he could be a rock star. But when was the last time anyone was at an Owl City show? In Victoria Park, the presence of his bands inspires a joy that is as optimistic as it is wistful – all of them are older, and probably living lives they didn't really imagine back when they first heard these records. But still, we all made it, right?

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