This is not a review of the Thursday December 6th concert at Boston's Orpheum Theater. This piece is actually more of my impressions of this artist which has moved so many people.
Conor came out to a barren stage dressed like it was laundry day scruffy and wrinkled and resembling pretty much every man in the audience. I went with a semi open mind, not a fan and not familiar with his work I decided to shut it and take it in to find what the buzz was for this indie Messiah and well- I found him as bland as his wardrobe.
Conor loves to sing about and make analogies about baseball, he loves to sing about his childhood, he has all these feelings. He also absolutely loves the letter 's' and will drag it out and spit it out as often as he can to punctuate sentences. No spit- I checked and I was close enough to see if there was spray, there wasn't.
This type of 'thinking' persons music. When I was a little girl I never really liked 'story time'. I liked reading, I really liked books on vinyl with actors reading but when my teacher sat up there reading with the book turned out so I could see the picture I tend to fall asleep or let my mind wander out the window. Conor tells stories. Enunciating so clearly hes like your kindergarten teacher at the front of the room reading 'Charlottes Web'. The difference between the concert and story time is that there was no where for my eye to wander. The Orpheum is a crumbling historic relic and I was on a folding chair, it was (no lie) about 50 degrees in there and the tall man behind me (also in fold out chair) was constantly kneeing me in the kidneys. If you were over 5' 3", you were screwed at the is venue. So I was trapped, literally. I luckily had an aisle so I was able to cut out periodically but I don't like story time.
I am in no way saying that Mr Oberst is not talented. No, he let us know he wrote songs at 16, he used different guitars and played piano- a true multi talented artist. He has a lovely voice (when he isn't hissing) and well no real showmanship but i don't think his crowd wanted that. He at one point even suggested that a few of his songs would be better framed in an MTV studio of 'storytellers' so he could sit on a stool and perform acoustic. Considering the vintage amps this was a lo fi as I could handle-honestly.
The evening was filled with stereotypes and Boston was the perfect back drop where the per capita hipster factor is outstanding.
I suppose I just don't 'get it' and I'm ok with that. If I need my emotions stirred I have Cat Stevens or Blue October two artists on two opposing sides of the spectrum- they serve me well. There were Cat moments in Conors show- but not enough to hold me. Opening act Willy Mason actually captivated me more- he had a sense of humor about his stories he smiled he was engaged- he didn't think he was the Messiah.
There was a teenage girl in the balcony who kept screaming "Conor You ROCK!" I'm not sure how many shrooms she had before the show but there was nothing 'rocking' about the set. But it was a great example of how blinded people can become by fandom. I suppose she couldn't really scream "Conor you share such FEEEELINGS' and have it echo as strong. But maybe that was the translation to this crowd.
Oh back to the kidney kicker. The man behind me found it fun to speak to the stage now and then. When Oberst asked if the crowd wanted old or new songs and the crowd screamed 'old', kidney man responded with a hearty 'AHH YEAH' ala Jay Z or something. Conor understood why stating 'we all like to hear older songs when we see a live show since those songs are tied to images and memories'. Pass the tissues. Conor is the poster child for bad childhoods and bleak outlooks to a generation that is unable to do their own laundry. At age 32 his genius is more rooted in his ability to grab this demographic and hold them captive. He is not God but he is the Jim Jones of Indie Rock. Pass the Kool Aid, Ill drink it first.
The crowd doesn't really sing along but the do shout out the lines that apply to them. Like a big verbal hug of the great minds of the Apple generation.
There was no drum……..seriously……there. was. NO drum. But who needs a drum when all you really need is the beating of your own heart overflowing with emotions passed around the room like a joint.
I am very happy I went. I am very happy I was able to catch Conor Oberst perform in such an 'intimate setting' and I am very glad its over.