Bright Eyes at Roadrunner, 4/8
Near the end of his opening set, Christian Lee Hutson filled us in on an anecdote about how he got into Bright Eyes. “Back in high school, I almost failed P.E.,” he recalled, “I didn’t want people to see me wearing shorts, so I’d sit out and listen to Bright Eyes on my iPod Nano, LIFTED, Wide Awake, Cassadaga… so I’m honored to be here on this tour.” Hutson left us all with that interesting picture to ponder before Conor Oberst charged out on stage. As he and his band launched immediately into “Dance and Sing” off their newest record, Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was, I found myself slightly distracted; though I was up in the photo pit, belting out the lyrics to the song under my mask, that image of Hutson remained in my mind—sitting on the sidelines, alone, but kept company by Bright Eyes.
The first thing I noticed about Conor was this oversized knit sweater he was wearing. It was this really cool piece that had big white stars woven all over it, long threads streaming down from the points of the stars. It had me wondering how unbelievably hot it must’ve been under the stage lights, all the spotlights and all the eyes of the audience pointed right at him. Despite the heat, Conor’s movements were frantic, explosive, his skate shoes switching and gliding all over the stage, the flowing tassels hanging from his sweater bouncing to the rhythm of the music. The stage was set in a dynamic arrangement that kept me bounding from one end of the pit to the other for different shots, with the orchestra in an array at stage right, a piano and keyboard at stage left, and a pedal steel before the drums in the center. An enormous eye chart that read “BRIGHT EYES” hung behind the performers, which added to the professional feel of the show. Conor isn’t a little kid anymore, like he was during his 2000’s performances of Wide Awake; Bright Eyes has evolved into a band deserving of an orchestra, and the band has come to exude an aura of expertise.
While all of the featured musicians performed excellently—with strings, keyboards, horns, pedal steels, flutes, anything you can imagine—Conor’s presence on stage is what kept the audience gripped. He came close to each of the other photographers and moved in unpredictable ways, providing each of us with incredibly dynamic shots. The incredibly accommodating venue also made navigating the press pit a wonderful experience; Boston’s Roadrunner is a prime location for shows, with a wide press pit and an absolutely enormous area for general admissions that allowed me to stay close to the front of the crowd even after my shooting was over. I was also seriously impressed by the lighting in the venue—the stage was perpetually lit in a way that created beautiful compositions, with each band member glowing the color of the lights. The staff, too, was super helpful, guiding me to the correct entrance for press, and they were a joy to talk to while waiting for the doors to open.
Near the end of the show, Conor sat at the edge of the stage, legs dangling into the press pit, singing in a manner reminiscent of a conversation between friends. As he rose to perform “Easy/Lucky/Free,” an unexpected choice and a favorite track of mine, I found myself turning around to face the rest of the crowd. Behind me, a sea of faces, each swaying and singing to the final song of the evening. The story Christian Lee Hutson had told was still in my mind, nearly failing P.E., listening to Bright Eyes on his iPod. That was me, too. I didn’t almost fail P.E., but I do remember those days in the locker room with my wired earbuds in, listening to Letting Off the Happiness, dreading changing shirts for fear of ruining my hair. Looking at the audience that night, I wondered how many of the others around me were the same, people who found comfort and companionship in Conor Oberst’s music, especially at times they felt isolated. It’s this sense of companionship and realness that made me a Bright Eyes fan, and it’s why I’ll continue to stick with their music for as long as I love music.