Image by Mara Isip
Bright Eyes in Boston, Thursday, May 24, 2007
The center of energy alights in the Wang Theater
By Rachel Surwit
Published: May 30th, 2007 | 12:24pm
On May 24, 2007 Boston's Wang Theater, usually frequented by the theater going elite, was invaded by the indie-pop teen scene, a generation led by Bright Eye’s Conor Oberst atop the throne, a mic as his staff and intrepid lyrics filling the air like a crown of thorns.
The theater, which has seen every famous Broadway show and home to the Boston ballet, was filled with long haired boys in thick rimmed glasses begging the man grazing their elbow on the arm rest to buy them a beer from the marble lobby ornamented with crystal chandeliers and cherub guarded columns.
The evening started with the folksy Oakley Hall followed by the incredibly talented duo Gillian Welch. Both groups showcased American Idol worthy vocal harmonies set to country folk undertones—complete with cowboy boots, a banjo and fiddle.
Touring in promotion of their latest release Cassadaga, an album with a sleeve covered in cryptic messages, and a title dubbed after a town that attracts psychics the way Oberst attracts die-hard indie fans hoping for a life lesson, the expectations for a revelatory experience in Bright Eyes’ live show were lofty. Luckily, our anticipation was not in vain.
Bright Eyes’ set began in the same fashion as the album, the muddle of musical fragments from “Clairaudients (Kill Or Be Killed)” echoing across the theater as the voice of one of Cassadaga’s psychics emerged to tell Oberst to take a spiritual journey. The dramatic effect, overbearing on the album, was effective live, setting the mystical mood present throughout the performance as the songs journeyed through self-deprecation and self-medication, testing faith and ideals set against a war-ridden backdrop.
Bright Eyes’ following is built on the emotional reaction the music elicits; the live show takes this effect one step further through a multimedia format. A huge projection screen behind the musicians showed entrancing psychedelic images created live in the sound booth using props such as pick up sticks, ink, a Ouiji board and even a photo of the grand Wang itself. The images covered the entire stage, including the clan of musicians all dressed in white, which Oberst explained was because they were all born again virgins.
During many songs there were as many as 11 people on stage, resulting in a striking ambiance not apparent on your iPod. A string quartet and flutists sat on a 3-tiered platform heightening the performance of songs such as “Hot Knives” and “Make A Plan To Love Me.” “First Day Of My Life,” one of the few songs not off Cassadaga, featured an impeccable flute solo and the fiddling on “Middle Man,” a song Oberst said was about taking mescaline in the desert, was just as poignant. Another old favorite, "The Calendar Hung Itself," brought Oberst’s voice to a screeching climax, accompanied by a horn and saxophone.
As the set moved on, Oberst got more involved in the songs. Head bangs threw his long hair in front of his face and his voice cracked and yearned with angst. One of the more dramatic performances was the controversial airtime-gaining single “Four Winds.” As Oberst bellowed the line “The Bible's blind, the Torah's deaf, the Qur'an's mute. If you burned them all together you'd get close to the truth still” the audience roared with applause.
The encore brought the jaw-dropping finger picking skills and gorgeous vocals of Gillian Welch (who also lent their skill on Cassadaga) back to the stage for some impromptu covers before some of Oakley Hall sauntered on for a final jubilee. The stage was packed with musicians. Each played to their own beat. The notes jumbled. Only Oberst’s lyrics and a simple horn beat made “Road To Joy” recognizable. The noise crescendoed as Oberst’s voice enraged until he threw the drummer’s stick into the audience followed by a maraca. He then started ripping at the ornamental flowerpots dividing the stage, chucking the cloth buds into the audience before repeatedly slamming his guitar into the ground. The chaos finally subsided as the musicians made their way off the stage leaving a lone saxophone player standing atop a white pedestal.
Behind all the special effects, we have to remember the young man commanding the elegant Wang Theater is a powerful poet that can rival the most recognized writers as he turns musical notes and controversial ideas into emotive verses in an attempt to find peace in himself and with our nation’s blighted legacy. Often tagged the “next Bob Dylan,” Oberst’s destiny seems to be finally taking shape.
Issue #35
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