:: Bright Eyes - Prince Of Wales Hotel, St.Kilda - April 2005

By: Joseph Crofts

An unseasonably warm night met the many Melbournians who arrived to, Nebraskan indie-folkies Bright Eyes’ show at the Prince of Wales on Tuesday night. The venue was as clammy and moist as freshly turned soil, ready to be fertilised by Conor Oberst and his frequently varied line up. Even the loud whirring of ceiling fans couldn’t cool audience applause or perspiration as the young bohemian band members entered stage left.

With just a brief glance from behind floppy-fringed hair Oberst and co launched into their first song ‘At The Bottom of Everything.’ However the first four tracks were delivered with barely enough essence to quench one fan’s thirst, let alone those of the eager but dehydrated sell-out crowd. The band took along time between numbers, appeared arrogantly disinterested, particularly the front man, and spoke only amongst themselves on song breaks. It was all very detached, especially for a seven-piece band. Apparently Oberst has claimed he is not a natural entertainer and performs according to his mood, which some might argue is an artist’s selfish right. Alternatively, maybe there were just some sound or timing difficulties to consider.

Luckily, for the audience, his possible boredom slash pretension disappeared as the show progressed. Everyone seemed far more responsive by six tracks in and the band began to impress with their skill, even if their personality was lacking. Sure enough though, as the vibe improved and the band hit stride their coyness disappeared and genuine emotions started to show.

Tracks like ‘Lifted’ and ‘Landlocked Blues’ had amazing tension and the latter’s marching tune style intro conjured images of one of those mid-Western baton-twirlers; one who’s just had her heart broken and is becoming disillusioned with the repetitive beat of small town life. It was then that it hit me; Conor Oberst is, at the end of the day, a storyteller first and an entertainer second. Storytellers entertain through words, not visuals, and sometimes, in the case of the written word, not even through sound. But regardless, by the band’s encore the sound and visuals had won me over too.

As he launched into his rip-snorting solo protest song ‘When the President talks to God,’ Oberst no longer seemed a petulant pixie. Now he was an angry man spitting lyrics with true feeling. He even planted a kiss on his old roady’s forehead and chatted with the front row, as he waited for his band to re-emerge for a cover of obscure Canadian songstress Feist’s ‘Mushaboom’. The night finished appropriately for an Australian tour with an extended version of “True Blue,” a title, which by the evening’s beautifully clangourous close, Bright Eyes had shown they deserved after all.