Conor Oberst united fans against racism at the Concert for Equality in Omaha
Posted
by Elke Mermis on
Mon, Aug 2, 2010 at 10:13 AM
click to enlarge
"This is racism," shouted Tim Kasher to a crowd of raised fists, silhouetted against stage lights. "There are plenty of other fights. This isn't the right one." The booming cheer in response was equally split between ecstatic fans and indignant activists. The Cursive frontman was speaking to a crowd of like-minded folks at Omaha's Concert for Equality on Saturday night in downtown Benson. Organized by Conor Oberst -- the Saddle Creek wünderkind, best known as the songwriting talent behind Bright Eyes -- the Concert for Equality gathered a lineup of sympathetic musicians in an effort to fuel the repeal of Fremont, Nebraska's recent immigration laws. Of course, it helped that the event also resurrected several of the Omaha label's much-loved acts of the early aughts: Bright Eyes and Desaparecidos.
Oberst is an active participant in the Sound Strike organized by Zach De La Rocha of Rage Against the Machine boycotting performances in Arizonia as a result of S.B. 1070. After Fremont's immigration laws passed, he channeled his efforts homeward, in a charity event that benefitted the ACLU's efforts to fight the Fremont laws (which, shamefully enough, were penned in part by Kansas City's Kris Kobach.) The event's headline boasted talents like Omaha's Bright Eyes (a solo project that Oberst has tapered off since 2007), Cursive, Lullaby for the Working Class (a Lincoln, Nebraska band that flourished in the mid-to-late-'90s), Desaparecidos (a post-punk project Oberst fronted in the early aughts), and out-of-towners Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, who drove from California earlier that day.
In short, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see bands that, by all logic, have no reason to be in the same place, at the same time -- especially since most of them have either gone on hiatus, or faded into obscurity. For a Saddle Creek freak, it was a fucking gold mine.
Upon arriving outside the Waiting Room Lounge's doors, a line of scenesters young and old stretched past the door and wound around the building to the entrance of the mini-festival, which turned out to be a section of a blocked-off street.
The night -- for me, at least -- began at 7:15 PM sharp, with Bright Eyes. Oberst's greeting to the crowd was one of warm familiarity, but he thanked the cheering, sweating crowd with the a serious demeanor. From the first song -- a beautifully, transcendent version of deep cut "Trees Get Wheeled Away" -- Oberst's deceptively sun-soaked songs took on a dark weight. I hadn't remembered how many protest songs Bright Eyes' I'm Wide Awake It's Morning contained that were masked as expansive, sweeping ballads.
"We Are Nowhere and It's Now," "Road to Joy": these Bush administration-era protests were oddly appropriate for the emotional, political message that Oberst was communicating; but they also spoke to Bright Eyes' long absence. I haven't been gone very long, but it feels like a lifetime, sang Oberst. His maturity brought a smoothness to rougher songs that hadn't been present the first time around, like an excellent jazz trumpet solo on "Lover I Don't Have to Love" -- admittedly, an odd choice in a collection of otherwise reflective, resonant songs. It was a graceful, timely and sobering resurrection of Bright Eyes. (For the record, "Old Soul Song (for The New World Order)," with the audience's fists raised and the band thrashing, was one of the most powerful moments I'd experienced at a rock concert, ever.)
in front of you on the back of his truck, for eight dollars. Insanity, I tell you.)
Food carts be damned, Welch and Rawlings played an impeccably executed set, including timeless, gorgeous tunes like "Look at Miss Ohio," that deserved more than a crowd of disinterested teenagers munching while wondering if Cursive would play "The Recluse." (They did.)
"We haven't played a show together in eight years," said Oberst, as Desaparecidos took the stage. Getting the other members of the band on board didn't take much, when Oberst told them the reason why. "It took one phone call," he said from the stage. "I love them for that."
After the band launched into its first angular riff, I was struck by one thing: God, I missed hearing Conor scream. Desaparecidos possessed the same infectious, shout-a-long fury of bands like Taking Back Sunday and Blood Brothers. It's a frank admission of emotion that's no longer in vogue; but damn, is it refreshing. Oberst's punky rage is channeled into more refined venues now, but it's whole and unblemished with time, as evidenced by the band's easy reversion to that emo-hair-flip fervor. Like the band chanted in "Manana": Well, today we're giving birth / to a new future.
We can hope. And, taking a cue from Oberst, we can raise our fists and voices, and protest, too.
Here's a highlight -- "Greater Omaha" -- from the band's single album, Read Music/Speak Spanish, that was released in 2002.
Comments (0)