Got I'm gutted. Some things in music we can take for granted. One boy-band dies and another identikit boy-band is instantly formed, the Chilli Peppers will never release an album that sounds different from their last, arena gigs will never be as good as the sweat-pits. And gigs *never* finish at 9.30pm.
Or so I thought until this evening's gig. Having traversed traffic, misdirection and the logistical nightmare of picking tickets up from the box office, I arrived at the show at 9pm, fully expecting to have missed a couple of songs at the very worst. Again, not so.
After ten minutes in the venue, I’m stood there trying not to think about how nice it would be to spark up at a gig, and... all of the band leave the stage. Wtf?!
The optimist in me thinks "this must be an acoustic part of the show". The audience are shouting for more. More, I presumed, as there was no way that they could be ending their set ten minutes after the watershed. Especially after ending on ‘No-one Would Riot For Less’ – one of the more sombre moments of the triumphant ‘Cassadaga’ album.
To my relief, the band return to the stage and plough through four more songs before leaving again by 9.35pm. Again... wtf?! Two encores? A bit ostentatious for a band that have hardly been celebrated in this country. The projected ‘GOODBYE’ on the screens suggested that proceedings had ended. As did the departing crowd.
Having booked these tickets on a whim two days ago, I had no idea that the gig was some sort of twilight show. I have a wall at home covered in gig tickets, with doors opening between 7pm and 8.30pm. *Not 6pm* It’s a rule, right?
A break from the negativity (for that will return back shortly). I love Bright Eyes. I inflict Bright Eyes on my friends, and I have successfully converted more than fifteen people to the Church of Conor Oberst through belligerence, bullying and compilation making.
I’ve tolerated the lengthy gaps between songs during live shows, defended THAT Glastonbury performance in which frontman Conor repeated shouted “Fuck John Peel” whilst headlining the inaugural stage named after the great man. I cajoled people to sacrifice Amy Winehouse (if only) in favour of their triumphant Other Stage set at this year’s festival.
Why? Because it has always been worth it. The songs are moving and meaningful, the lyrics inspired, clever and wise. When performed live, they become even more fragile and often uplifting. Which is why I keep dragging people to share in my worst kept secret. In fact, my biggest triumph to date was when two friends signed their marriage certificate to ‘First Day of My Life.’ This is a band with the capability to touch many people were the message to spread. Emotional, but definitely not Emo.
Twenty-seven years old and Oberst has a back-catalogue that many a successful stalwart would envy, with a future almost as assured. There are many reasons why Bright Eyes are my favourite band, and the six previous live experiences I’ve had are a huge part of that. To reiterate one last time; I love Bright Eyes.
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Which is why this pains me so much. Not only did I miss the bulk of the show due to the ludicrous show-time, but the six songs I did catch amount to one of the most anti-climactic gigging experiences of all time.
The intent to put on a good show was there. A full band backed up with a ten piece orchestra had been enlisted to give the full ‘Cassadaga’ live experience, one that transmitted so well on a Glastonbury afternoon. Tonight, however, it seemed a little too ramshackle, and that started from the main man downwards.
He didn't appear to want to be there, and he didn't seem to think we were having a good enough time. If the part I was ‘lucky’ enough to attend was anything to go by, he’s probably right.
At one point he even urged the audience to "go and see more music". An odd line to take to a room full of people at a gig on a Friday night. Looking around, very few people seemed to be enjoying themselves. Applause was muted and the atmosphere in general was lacking. I assume that I arrived too late and missed the numerous high points of the set, but the ending was everything a Bright Eyes show usually isn’t; disparate, emotionless and bland.
The problem was that each arrangement took preparation, and when your patience isn’t rewarded with a mind-blowing performance, it suddenly stops being fun. The last two songs of the main set ambled along professionally enough, but lacked any passion and caused mass outbreaks of chatting within the audience.
With such a rich back catalogue of songs to choose from, the encore is something of a damp squib. A drab rendition of ‘Gold Mine Gutted’ (one of the weaker moments from 2005’s ‘Digital Ash In A Digital Urn’ album), the virtually unknown ‘Southern State’ and an ill-conceived re-working of ‘At The Bottom Of Everything’ is the parting shot. During this final song, they purposely stall over the line ‘and then we’ll see it’ over and over again, as if they are watching the clock, repeating the line until they have fulfilled their contractual obligation for the evening and can make a swift exit.
An unremarkable show that ended prematurely with both audience and band shrugging their shoulders and heading home in time for the latest Big Brother eviction.
Anyone who has blindly loved a band can imagine how horrible this feels.
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