sandbox

I stumbled upon an epiphany Monday night. I realized that I loathed Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst. In fact, I would later learn that night that he would become recess’ recipient of the 2005 MORD (Most Annoying Rock Dude) award, effectively beating out Dashboard Confessional’s Chris Carabba, that Hoobastank guy and the late Elliott Smith.

It’s not just because I hate his Bob Dylan-worthy songwriting chops, his whiny seal’s bark of a voice or the fact that he’s banging Winona Ryder. No, it’s because he’s “indie rock’s”—the quotes are essential—new mascot, “it” boy, flavor of the month. And the saddest thing is that he’s still making relevant music as evidenced by his recent dual releases. That’s the reason I despise him most.

As I sat in the audience of the BTI Center—a totally inappropriate venue for so-called independent music—I had never felt so old. I was surrounded on all sides by high-schoolers wearing knee socks, black fingernail polish and T-shirts with their trite slogans.

“Indie rock”—my genre—had gone the way of emo and punk. It had been co-opted by the mainstream. The movement’s resident hipsters—annoying enough already—had been replaced by these faux zit-faced hipsters with their Hot Topic wardrobe.

Throughout the show, Oberst was assaulted by vicious shrieks from overcome females, instances of cell-phone waving and several heckles, including one “nice ass” remark.

Indeed, as he quietly strummed away at his guitar, I almost felt sorry for the guy. Here, he was trying to play quality tunes, and his own audience was trivializing it all. (I once went to a Bright Eyes concert in NYC, where he actually admonished the audience for singing along to his songs a la all that emo crap).

However, as he segued into “When The President Talks to God,” a protest song that lacks all the subtleness of his best material, I could feel excitement pulse through the assembled crowd. After Oberst has been frequently featured in Rolling Stone and now practically screams MTV2 staple, Bright Eyes’ music has become awfully suspicious in the regard that oftentimes as with the aforementioned song he seems to be pandering to—instead of challenging—his audience.

And while he still manages to pen and perform amazing lyrical vignettes like the new single “Lua,” in light of everything else, it makes him all the more a sell-out—a tragic one at that.

The most depressing event of that night, however, wasn’t his performance. As I left the auditorium shortly before the show ended I noticed a line of cars stationed around the center’s perimeter.

Parents were waiting in their SUVs to pick up their brats still jamming inside to their “rebel rock.”

 

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