By: Michele Koury, Tony Thomas
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| Conor Oberst and his new long hair - Publicity Photo |
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| Conor Oberst - Publicity Photo |
Judging from recent interviews, Conor Oberst wants everyone to know that he's grown up. The former indie-rock child prodigy, Oberst is most appreciated by weepy teens with elaborate MySpaces and critics that hail him as the "New Dylan." Well, he's grown his hair out and now he's ready to get political. This concerned me, as I will always and forever associate Bright Eyes, his biggest project, with the sappy comfort of teen angst, which, let's be honest here, is really why we all love the band. He writes vivid, sometimes abstract, ever-emotional lyrics that are absolutely inhaled by a young, melodramatic crowd, and the truth is that he expresses the cliché sorrow that everyone's embarrassed and proud to feel. I was anxious to see Bright Eyes get political; to me, it seemed that we have enough musicians spouting off their opinions, and I felt that Conor should stick to what he does best—wail and sob for the rest of us. I entered the State Theatre with a sense of foreboding, which was appropriate, as his new CD is inspired by psychics.
The State Theatre was small and at times uncomfortably formal, but also very cozy and snug. I was hoping they’d play First Avenue, but I later understood the choice of venue. The crowd was mostly worshipful high school emo kids, as I expected, and the energy was great. One thing about Bright Eyes is that they have a following unlike most bands. Conor’s picture is sure to be (or at least has been for some time) featured under the “Heroes” or “Who I’d like to meet” spot on Myspace for these kids, and all of them looked cold from circling the tour buses for hours before the show. Because of this, the anxious excitement was contagious as well as adorable.
People often forget that “Bright Eyes” is not directly equivalent to “Conor Oberst,” and everyone was reminded of that when an entire, white outfit-clad band stepped on before the leading man, taking places that wrapped around where the spotlight would be, getting comfortable behind waiting instruments and music notes. So this is why they couldn’t grace First Avenue. They would have fit on the stage! The crowd happily applauded them, though desperately anticipating the songster of the night. And then Conor appeared, making a very subtly dramatic entrance. You can guess the crowd’s reaction.
Conor was also dressed in a white suit, reminiscent of a certain Elliott Smith, and still had that long hair that called to mind secret aspirations of Jack White status. Behind him and the rest of his elegant musical ensemble was a massive screen, on which bright colors, flowers, and play blocks were projected via an old school projector worked by a skinny guy with a cowboy hat in one of the viewing boxes.
I was waiting for Conor to play some of his classics, but perhaps the mediocre review that Spin gave Fevers and Mirrors made him want to distance himself from older songs, and instead barge headway into political folk. Frankly, I didn’t want to hear about a revolution. I wanted to feel my hand go to my heart with empathy to “Sunrise, Sunset.” Eventually he did play “On a String,” which appeased me, and did sound wonderful with such an elaborate ensemble of violins, flutes, cellos—and then just him with his guitar—but the passion wasn’t there.
In fact, throughout the night it felt like his attempts at being personally engaging with the audience were somewhat manufactured. “Who’s been in love with a workaholic? This song’s for you.” “Who’s been to rehab? This song’s for you.” “Who’s been in a love affair gone wrong? This song’s for you.” He’s hoping for a graceful transition from his angsty days to something else, and wants to maintain his sensitive poet persona, but has to make sure not to isolate the fans. I appreciate the efforts at connection with the crowd, but it just didn’t feel sincere. There were many other one sided conversations with the audience, with him telling us how great Minneapolis is (“And I’m not just saying that”), and meekly thanking the crowd after literally every song (because he needs to make sure that we know he’s still modest and shy). My other favorite of the night, “First Day of My Life,” simple and acoustic in the recorded version, sounded pretty great when decorated with intense, snapping percussion (not just one, but two female drummers that were tiny yet furious).
Overall, the show was exactly what I anticipated. Conor is still immensely talented, but is struggling with the conversion from experimental, passionate rock to controlled, world-aware folk. He played well and succeeded in offering the illusion of enthusiasm to his ever-loyal fans. The balance of a packed stage, charming leading man, worshipful crowd, and small venue was just right. I respect him for what he’s doing, and maybe it’ll be possible to grow up alongside his music as it evolves, but realistically my Bright Eyes phase has passed. Maybe I’m just not prepared to accept this new Conor, but that isn’t what matters—I know that everyone else will, and he’s got a lot more road to travel.
Location Info:
State Theatre
Artist Info: Bright Eyes
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