When
I was 8 years old, my father gave me a compendium of short
stories entitled: Amphigorey. My eyes were opened to the
delightfully dark tales of Edward Gorey whose morose tales
wrought with humor delighted me. I was most enchanted by
his alphabet of childhood deaths, The Gashlycrumb Tinies.
Conor Oberest is the 27th letter of that alphabet. As he ambled meekly
onto the El Rey Theatre stage, I couldn’t help but feel nervous
and scared for him. At 20 years old, playing for a sold out crowd with
nothing but an acoustic guitar and a red velvet chair to share the stage
with you, spilling your emotions for the crowd cannot be easy... or can
it? As my sympathy was quickly slapped away, I realized how mistaken
I was, this was not a waif-like boy in need of help, but a consummate
performer.
Connor mixed songs from his last album (w/band Bright Eyes) Fevers And
Mirrors along with new/unrecorded ones and sang them with the intensity
of one on the verge of a breakdown yet the confidence of any seasoned
veteran I have ever had the pleasure to witness. He seasoned the lyrics
with a more personal flair than on the albums as his eyes darted throughout
the crowd, and a hush fell across us all. Knocking the microphone about
with his chin as a sort of dare for it to come back for more, he spit,
screamed, whispered and lulled us all into his comically dark lullabies
that linger like the literature of our childhoods.
|
