It was the kind of Saturday in early June that could’ve inspired a Death Cab for Cutie song. As couples kissed on beach blankets and baby geese squawked at Wayfarer-wearing concert-goers, I braced myself for the histrionic emotion sure to come from a Stars/Death Cab for Cutie double bill on Olympic Island. Proof that Seth Cohen is a band’s most effective publicist came from a mixed-bag crowd: yuppie couples and their strollers, popped-collar frat boys and proprietary scenesters boasting that they knew Ben Gibbard before “Such Great Heights” scored the trailer for Garden State.

An opening set from Oakland's Rogue Wave (I literally “missed the boat” for Arts and Crafts signees Young Galaxy) showcased proficient Coldplay-like multilayered guitar parts, with sunny hooks of melody. They’re going to be just fine, especially for those who dig conventional alternative rock augmented by enough psychedelic keyboard whirling to make it “indie.” (In short: everyone.)

The crowd got off the greenery for Stars. Tossing pink carnations into the audience, the band was in usual melodramatic form as drummer Pat McGee beat the heat with a towel wrapped around his head. Torquil Campbell and Amy Milan worked a jovial wedding-singer vibe, sharing a microphone with backs turned to each other, strutting across the stage, and taking impromptu audience polls. “Who fell in love this year? Who fell in love last year? Who’s still in love?” prodded Milan to a series of bemused smiles.

And yet for a band that prides themselves on emotionality, Stars’ lead singers have as much chemistry as Liza Minnelli and David Guest; Campbell opts for a lazy Morrissey imitation (British warble and broad hand gestures), and Millan for a mysterious shrug before each solo vocal. Somehow their love-lorn angst is no longer credible — perhaps years of playing lovers in song has dissolved it completely. While musically cohesive (tracks off last year's In The Bedroom After The War effectively showcased their synth-based pop dramas), live performances of “Ageless Beauty” and “Death to Death” have only deadened their feelings. This was widely apparent during a do-over for a botched vocal during “One More Night.” “Sometimes musically speaking, the condom slips off,” said Torquil by way of apology. “You just gotta get that shit back on and start again.” Or grab your clothes off the floor and hightail it the hell out of there. Sorry Stars, but the thrill is gone.
 
Debuting a shoulder-length bob, 20-pound weight loss and contact lenses, Ben Gibbard looked nothing like his sensitive-geek image. While makeovers can yield surprising results, the recently released Narrow Stairs holds up in the Death Cab canon, featuring quirky melodies that resonate in your head and Gibbard’s token confessional lyricism. He’s the master of the unexpected chorus — some odd line (“Sorrow drips into your heart like a pinhole/ Just like a faucet that leaks/ And there is comfort in the sound”) that echoes with bombast. While there were initial mixing problems (bass player Nick Harmer was pounding in my ears), a mixture of crowd favorites both old (“Company Calls Epilogue”) and new (“I Will Follow You Into The Dark”) had Death Cab sounding as grandiose and arena-rock as U2.

This new direction was perfectly evident on the eight-minute single “I Will Possess Your Heart,” beginning with a simple bass line and atmospheric waves of guitar fuzz. With an adamant chorus that sounds more like Ian Curtis — “You gotta spend some time/ love… I will possess your heart” — it’s a risk that pays off live. Death Cab’s 2005 major-label debut Plans had the band vying for the middle of the road. Here they go for a drive up the coast and get inspired.

During the final encore I found myself gazing over at a tribal-tattooed dude mouthing “I need you so much closer” with his eyes shut. When one person’s crappy long-distance relationship is this emotionally incisive, it becomes universal. Say what you will about a chorus that repeats “I loved you Guinevere, I loved you” 50 times — when Gibbard croons it in his warm, familiar tenor, it sounds like both a drunken text message and a sonnet penned by Keats.