The Greatness of Conor Oberst's Performances and Overall Existence

This was the third time I have seen Conor Oberst. The first time was in November of 2006 when he was with Bright Eyes. Spectacular. Mind-bending. Perfect. At this time, Conor was still in his angst-filled early 20s and though his music and words from that period are beautiful, there show was filled with sadness. I cried for most of it, but still felt a sense of enlightenment afterwards, like I had just discovered a a truth that no one else had. The particular songs he played were filled with personal problems like depression, alcoholism, his anger with God and a sense of alienation from those around him. This is very indicative of his teenage years and were, at the time, very easy for me to relate to. That was the reason I started listening to Conor all those years ago: he was saying what I could not. As his music progressed and matured with the release of Digital Ash in Digital Urn, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning and Cassadaga, his poetry became less centered around his life and more about universal feelings and issues. His view of God also changed and he seemed more agnostic than anything. This change also coincided with my maturation.  I was extremely impressed by the rest of the members of Bright Eyes who made up the orchestra on stage. Perfection. Each note in its place, each word slurred to perfection by the drunken poet.

The second time I saw Conor was this past summer in Battery Park when he was with The Mystic Valley Band. This sound is very different from Bright Eyes. But still perfect. It is more rock and roll, but still folk. In fact, some songs, especially those written and sang by Taylor Hollingsworth, even have a tinge of country in them. But old country. With this new musical formation, Conor's words became more descriptive and more metaphorical. Certain lyrics about the possibility of a God sounded more positive. Unlike Bright Eyes, Conor incorporated songs written and performed by other members of the band. This was also a sign of maturation that I found I could easily relate to. Rather than Conor sitting on a chair or wallowing around the stage like in the Bright Eyes show, he was dancing and jumping and shaking his butt which made the atmosphere of the show much happier and instead of simply crying of the enamoring beauty of Conor's words, I was also crying because of the joy that surrounded me.This show was particularly great because it was not in a sit-down styled theater but rather a huge crowd of other young adults passionate about this great band. I felt a great connection to those around me and I was pleased to realize that I am not the only one bat-shit crazy over Conor.

Last night was just as perfect. This time Conor was playing in Monsters of Folk, a collaborative group made up of  Jim James, M. Ward, Mike Mogis and Conor. All of these men are extremely talented poets and musicians. The show was not centered around one of them, but rather, they all took turns singing and playing different instruments. And, as a change, they all wore matching suits (Conor has never matched anyone before). This is a symbol of their equality in the group. I expected Conor to be great, which he was, and I was thrilled when they played some old Bright Eyes songs. I was blown away by his performance, especially when he was dancing and looking adorable. But I was extremely impressed by the performances of M. Ward, Jim James and Mike Mogis. I have not heard much Jim James but he has an amazing voice, which is reminiscent of old country, and a great way with words. I plan on listening to his most popular musical project, My Morning Jacket. M. Ward was great too. His voice is so electrifying and probably the most unique of the group. Very sexy. Though Mike Mogis did not sing, he played the slide guitar more many of the songs and also a smallish guitar thing I have never seen (very ukulele like). He is a great musician and also very attractive.The energy of the audience was magnificent. There were people around me screaming equally as loud as I was (which is very hard to do) and jumping and cheering. There was this one guy in front of us who, whenever M. Ward or Jim James played a song, screamed and jeered and you could see the passion swirling around him. It was a great feeling to see other people as passionate as I am about this music. It is comforting and makes me feel less alienated. The entire experience was exactly what I had hoped for. Julie and I waited outside the doors where we (and several other bat-shit crazy fans) thought the band would be exiting the building. But alas, we were dooped by Conor and M. Ward who magically slipped out the front when no one was looking. We were so close. But we did see Mike Mogis and Jim James for a brief second before they jumped into their tour bus. I was kind of disappointed. But we did meet some interesting people while we waited there for almost two hours on a street in Philly. This includes a homeless man who reeked of alcohol and told Julie and I that we were beautiful then proceeded to kiss our hands. Yes, for real. I should try to look less approachable when I am in cities. But anyway, it was great and I would let a million homeless people kiss my hands if it meant I could see Conor.

I strongly recommend for everyone to listen to as much Conor as possible. I would suggest songs but I love all of them and could never choose.

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Note: For those of you confused, this story is written from the perspective of a very good, male friend of mine.

                          The past few days have been rather cold; but today it was unseasonably warm and they hadn’t turned off the heat in the library. I sat in one of the oversized arm chairs near the windows. A pair of dragonflies flew past me, just outside the glass. They glided and twirled around one another, never parting. I looked back down at my book and forgot about the dragonflies.

                             In the distance, heels clicked and clacked on the linoleum floor. The sound grew louder with each step. I {tore} my eyes from the book now lying limp in my lap and saw a young woman waiting cross-armed at the circulation desk. She wore a short, navy blue dress with gray stockings stretching up her long legs. I gazed at her a while, tracing the waves of long, golden brown tresses down her back. I loved her.

                             Impatiently, she rang the desk bell with a smooth tap of her hand. When no one responded, she rang the bell again.

                             “Excuse me?”

                             A librarian wearing too much makeup and a pair of glasses around her neck appeared at the counter.

                             “Can I help you?” She asked as politely as possible.

                             “Yes, I was just wondering where I can find Brett Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero.”

                             I was sure she could hear my thumping heart that seemed to echo through the vacant halls of the library. I loved her most in that moment. Lying on my lap was Brett Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero. I quickly covered the book with my sweatshirt and looked back out the window, seeing only blank space.

                             The librarian typed away at the computer on the desk. “It should be on the third floor; I’ll write down the call number for you.” The librarian took a piece of small, white paper from a plastic holder next to the computer.

                             “Thanks so much,” the young woman said and took the paper from the librarian.

                             “Oh, you’re welcome. “ The librarian left us.

                             The woman walked past me, towards the elevator. I panicked and felt a strong urge to follow this woman and tell her I loved her. When she had turned the corner, I stood and gathered my books and pencils and quickly followed her. I peeked around the corner just as she was getting on the elevator, making sure she did not see me watching her. My palms were drenched in sweat and I moved towards the stairs, rushing to make sure I got to the third floor before she did.

                             The stairwell was silent other than the thump of my foot on each step. The stairs went on for miles and when I finally reached the third floor, I was out of breath. The bookshelves were just feet away when the elevator made a bing sound and the doors opened. Her eyes met mine and I held my breath. She looked through me and went towards the bookshelves. A smell of sweet vanilla filled my nostrils as she walked by and I nearly lost my balance. I continued to follow her, while reading the labels on the shelves, even though I knew right where the book should be. The woman turned down an aisle. I turned just a few aisles away from her and watched her through the books. First, she stood on her toes, trying to read the call numbers of each book. She was looking on the wrong shelf and didn’t notice it for a few minutes. She continued down the shelf until she had to kneel on the maroon carpet to read the numbers. When she finally got to the place where Less Than Zero should be, I heard her sigh and saw her look at the top shelf of the proceeding bookcase. Again she sighed beautifully and I felt wretched. My breath quickened and I worried she might hear me. I read the books on the shelf in front of me. A Study of T.S. Eliot’s The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock and Other Poems sat beside leather bound books with no title on their bindings. I looked back up in the direction of the woman and she was no longer there. I felt a sense of alarm travel through my body and I frantically looked around. Time stopped. Fear.

                             She was standing right next to me. How could I not have heard her coming? I silently cursed the carpet beneath our feet and tried with all I had to calm myself. I didn’t risk looking at her, and stepped back. She passed in front of me and I got another whiff of her enamoring scent. I needed to be with her. I continued to eye the shelf in front of me, as if searching for the most important book in the world. Her back to me, she walked down the aisle and turned, stopping only once in the section titled Shakespeare and smiled at the books before her. How great would it be to have her beam with such admiration and longing for me? She gracefully fingered the books and continued away from me.

                             I lost sight of her and sighed. Walking down each aisle, I searched and searched for her through the bookshelves. Each time I turned a corner, I held my breath in fear but also in hopes of seeing her again. I heard the elevator bing in the distance and I panicked at the idea that she may have pressed that button. Hastily, I walked towards the elevator, praying to see her again. I reached the elevator to see the metal doors close between the beautiful girl and I. My reflection looked desperate and lost. I pushed the button for the elevator and the doors opened automatically. The woman was still standing there.

                             “Hello,” she said.

                             Acknowledgement. She smiled and apple-like cheekbones formed on her freckled face and she was beautiful. I swallowed deeply and the door started to automatically close. She reached for the button and held the door for me. My love waited for me to take a step. But my feet were stuck to the ground and weighed down by bricks. The smile disappeared from her face and she looked perplexed. How could she not realize I didn’t deserve to look at her with such an aching in my chest let alone share a four by seven space with her?

                             “Are you getting on?” She asked with an inquisitive look upon her face.

                             “Uh, uh,” I was a stammering fool, “um, yes.”

                             “Alright then,” she continued to hold the door and I finally stepped in.

                             The doors closed behind me and we were alone. She stared at the small metal buttons next to the floor numbers and then glanced back at me.

                             “What floor do you need?” She asked, still looking puzzled.

                             The second floor button was already illuminated. “Second, please,” I said.

                             We stood alone in the elevator and I tried to keep calm. I wanted so badly to scream out to her that I loved her and wanted to spend forever with her. Would she understand? I felt completely out of control though I was standing still.  My chance to speak to her was slipping away as the elevator descended.  I had to speak. This could not be our ending. The elevator stopped and she left me.