Bright Eyes, Tristeza, The Faint and The Mercury Program
New York, (October 21, 2000)
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Bright Eyes
New York,
October 21, 2000 |
I claim allegiance to the indie rock scene, but as I watched the programmers and DJs of America's college radio stations, who made up 80 percent of the crowd, I could not help but feel that everyone around me was utterly pretentious. The great irony of this is that in assessing this trait in others, I revealed my own pretentiousness. My philosophical quandry passed through my head and I resigned myself to a Bass Ale and the end of the Mercury Program's set. The Mercury Program are not a bad band, they are fairly technically proficient and well-rehearsed. But, they sound like kids who played in their high school jazz band and decided to start a jam band. That would be fine if they stuck to instrumental arrangements, but somewhere along the way, they decided to add inane lyrics to about half of their songs.
Omaha's The Faint, took the stage and promptly endured 15 minutes of sound problems. The set of synth-laden, bass-heavy, vocal effect-induced music, when it finally did get underway, sounded like the rejected drafts of songs, sans guitars, that Robert Smith penned for the Cure's contribution to "The Crow" soundtrack. The one highlight was the set-closing cover of Death Cab For Cutie's "Worked Up So Sexual."
Later, San Diego's Tristeza delivered their brand of engaging yet mathematical instrumental rock songs. Virtually every song in their arsenal begins with a keyboard-driven drone and eight to 12 bars of a repeated guitar riff. The world's most original band? No, but they can, and do, build some pleasant and intense expanses of sound that proved to be a refreshing contrast to the Faint's performance.
As Conor Oberst, who is to Bright Eyes as Trent Reznor is to Nine Inch Nails, took the stage, a cry of "We love you Conor!" rose from a member of the crowd. The extremely young, yet oddly beautiful Oberst was backed by his ever-rotating crew of bandmates throughout the night but opted to open with a solo acoustic song.
His intensely cathartic and sincere voice spewed images of clocks, clouds, disappointment and love as he alternated between fingerpicking and banged out chords. Oberst's stage presence is a bizarre blend of Neutral Milk Hotel mainman Jeff Magnum's sincerity and Afghan Whigs impresario Greg Dulli's impending nervous breakdown.
With the addition of the band (including bass, keyboard, drums, and flute) for the remainder of the set, things never congealed. Obviously soused, the drummer failed to establish a consistent tempo and the songs never conveyed the urgency that usually drives Bright Eyes' recordings and live shows.
As they abruptly ended the set just before 2 a.m. with "The Calendar Hung Itself," which months ago converted me to being a Bright Eyes fan, I felt disappointed. Not because the set was ending at barely 40 minutes in duration, but rather because I had forced myself to watch one of my favorite bands destroy their music for 40 minutes.
A.K. GOLD | A.K. Gold lives in Washington, D.C., where she slaves away for a non-profit organization and constantly compares everything to New York City or Chicago. She's earned her "cred" as a college radio and pre-1960 country music DJ, committed indie label street teamer, sporadic zinemaker/contributor, retired mail-order filler and occasional freelance writer. From time to time, she publishes Anecdotal Evidence, a per zine that will some day be considered for the National Book Award, or possibly not. If you want to buy a copy, or desire to write to her for some other reason, email criticgirl@hotmail.com.