Posts Tagged ‘Conor Oberst’
Reviewed: Monsters of Folk
Monsters of Folk might seem like an inappropriate moniker for indie darlings Jim James, M. Ward, Conor Oberst, and Oberst collaborator Mike Mogis.
The supergroup kicks off its self-titled debut with a number that might fit more comfortably in the genre of Christian R&B pop: “Sometimes it’s so hard to believe in/But God, I know you have your reasons,” sing James, Ward, and Oberst on “Dear God (sincerely M.O.F.)”
But childlike faith gives way to adolescent rebellion on “Baby Boomer,” teachable strife on “Man Named Truth,” and finally cheerful optimism on “The Sandman, the Brakeman, and Me.”
The Appeal of the ‘Bad’ Singer/David Dondero @ Jammin’ Java Tonight
Pomona professor Kevin D.H. Dettmar has an essay in this week’s Chronicle Review, titled “The Discreet Charm of the Bad Voice,” where he argues that listeners find atonal singing uniquely empathetic because it is easy to imitate. Dettmar’s examples are sometimes dubious—Neil Young, John Mayer, and Thom Yorke aren’t exactly the three tenors, but I would hesitate to call their voices bad by any pop standard—and he devotes a lot of space to name-dropping that might have been better used exploring the sociological underpinnings of the bad-voice appeal. But his basic thesis is worth considering: Are we drawn to certain “bad” singers because their badness makes their music more accessible? To put it in Tocquevillian terms: Is the popularity of imprecise singers like Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Tom Waits due to the equality of conditions in America, and the democratic tastes it engenders?
It’s an intriguing question, but I think it ultimately misses the point. The difference between Dylan, Cash, Waits, et al. and Joe Karaoke is that those three write extraordinary songs. That is their primary appeal. A shitty song can be popular if a great-sounding vocalist sings it, and a great song can be popular if a shitty-sounding vocalist sings it, but a shitty song by a shitty singer has won’t draw democrats or anyone else. The gap between the musician and the listener must still exist. In the Kurt Vonnegut story “Harrison Bergeron,” set in a dystopia where absolute equality reigns, the characters react with a justified lack of enthusiasm to a ballet performance featuring dancers that are no more or less talented than anyone else who might care to don a leotard. Surely a bad voice alone does not capture the democratic ear; it is merely an ornament of an otherwise moving melody, composition, or narrative. A more honest vehicle for a more honest song. Style following substance.
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Wilco (The Lovefest) @ Wolf Trap
The critical buzz around Wilco’s latest, self-titled album has centered on the notion of identity. Some have heralded Wilco (the album) as a reclamation of the insouciance of the band’s early albums, while others—particularly City Paper’s own Aaron Leitko—have described it as a tour of the band’s sonic arc over the last decade. But aside the reflexivism of its latest studio release, Wilco at Wolf Trap on Wednesday reiterated what might be the band’s most enduring legacy: its ability to put on one hell of a live show.
Photos: Wilco @ Wolf Trap
Steve Kolowich has a full review of Wilco’s sold-out show at Wolf Trap last night coming tomorrow; here are some photos to tide you over while you wait. (There’s probably some unwritten rule against starting a post about Wilco with anyone but Jeff Tweedy, but so be it—above, guitarist Nels Cline.) Also, my one thought from the show: I realized that Wilco can play as many songs I hate from Sky Blue Sky as they want; if “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” is part of the encore as it was last night, I’ll leave happy.
More after the jump and at the full photoset.
Conor Oberst Is for Lovers. Bon Jovi Lovers.
The full-on rock spectacle that is Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band was on display last night at the 9:30 Club. For me, the transition from quirky Americana to Oberst’s special brand of theatrical rock was “Road to Joy’s” proclamation “Let’s fuck it up boys…make some noise!” from 2004’s I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning.
Subsequent releases like the Four Winds EP, Cassadaga, and the centerpiece from the 9:30 show, Conor Oberst, have pushed his sound into Wilco territory (exemplified by last night’s rollicking version of Oberst’s “NYC-Gone, Gone”) while still hewing to his Mobius-strip lyrical style. Watching the show, it’s clear the rock attitude has become personified in his live playing, upper torso all Mike Ness, and his legs moving like Tattoo You-era Mick Jagger.
When he and bandmate Macey Taylor pulled up the stools for a quiet acoustic duet on “Milk Thistle,” I flashed on what Conor may have become had he hailed from ’80s New Jersey instead of Omaha. And taking another cue from the ’80s, with the eye-covering fedora and highly cuffed jeans, Conor was missing only the silver glove to complete the Thriller era MJ look.
No comment on Conor Oberst would be complete without a Bob Dylan reference. While the musical and lyrical comparisons at this point are so stupidly obvious, the Bob in Conor came out at the end of the show as he commented on president elect Barack Obama’s historic election: “Let’s hope he comes through for us.”
Not very declarative, cynical almost. Sound like anyone?
