The Art of the Performance

I got to see Bright Eyes in concert the other night. Conor Oberst and company put on a fantastic show and I was not disappointed in my first time seeing them. Oberst, who has often been referred to as “the new Bob Dylan” in regards to his song-writing, was entertaining, emotional, humorous, aggressive, and intense all at once. He is a dynamic performer who seemed fragile in his most intimate songs, but was later a powerhouse in the ear-blasting finale. It was a great show.

There was one thing that really struck me about that night, and that is the nature of performers and their performances. Here you have guys who sing the same songs night after night, hundreds of shows a year. For some artists, they’ve belted out the same tunes tens of thousands of times. Doesn’t that get old? And yet somehow, each night some of these people are able to reach down into themselves and pull out all of the appropriate emotions when needed. It kind of amazes me.

When Bright Eyes performed “Poison Oak,” I was blown away. I’ll reprint the lyrics below, but the song seems to be about one friend losing another. They start off as boyhood pals, but then one quickly grows up, steals a car, drives away and gets into some bad stuff. The speaker sings of loss and how his clothes are “soaking wet” with tears. Every time I’ve heard the song on the album “I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning,” it’s always gotten to me. It’s starts off very quietly and intimately, but then it swells with anger, sadness, and regret. It’s a tune that sounds like Oberst might’ve easily cried through the vocals or through the writing of it. I practically do for the emotional chord he strikes through every lyric, especially when the band hits the crescendos of the later lines.

It’s probably a mistake to assume that Oberst is singing about someone from his life. We probably too often guess that of writers, which diminishes their ability in some way. But let’s just say that this is something very real to him. I can understand how Eric Clapton might’ve barely been able to get through the recording of “Tears in Heaven,” but does it still get to him now after performing the song for over fifteen years? You wouldn’t think so, or at least not in the same way, and yet when Conor Oberst sang “Poison Oak” when I saw him, you would’ve thought he was speaking of something that just happened to him yesterday, even though the song was recorded several years and many many concerts ago. The emotion he conjured up for the performance of that song was almost tangible that night at Constitution Hall. I give him a lot of credit for that and admire any artist who is able to deliver such passionate renditions of their songs night after night.

“Poison Oak” Lyrics by Conor Oberst

Poison oak. Some boyhood bravery.
When the telephone was a tin can on a string,
And I fell asleep with you still talking to me.
You said you weren't afraid to die.

In polaroids you were dressed in women's clothes.
Were you made ashamed, why'd you lock them in a drawer?
Well, I don't think that I ever loved you more,

Than when you turned away, when you slammed the door,
When you stole the car and drove towards Mexico.
And you wrote bad checks just to fill your arm,
I was young enough, I still believed in war.

Well let the poets cry themselves to sleep
And all their tearful words will turn back into steam.

But me, I'm a single cell on the serpent's tongue.
There's a muddy field where a garden was.
And I'm glad you got away but I'm still stuck out here.
My clothes are soaking wet from your brother's tears.

And I never thought this life was possible.
You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for.

The end of paralysis, I was a statuette.
Now I'm drunk as hell on a piano bench
And when I press the keys it all gets reversed.
The sound of loneliness makes me happier.