Rolling Thunder Redux?

In 1975, a young man named Bob Dylan rounded up some of his most talented pals & went on tour. That tour, the Rolling Thunder Revue, extended through 1976, & was little more than a traveling jam session between a group of musicians with marvelous chemistry. In the opinion of this Dylan fan, it was one of the greatest rock tours the world will ever see. Here's proof:

Now, before I ever really discovered Dylan, there was another singer-songwriter in my life: Omaha's most celebrated native son, Conor Oberst. Lifted..., the 2002 release that sent Bright Eyes into the mainstream, was for me, as for many others of my generation, the soundtrack to an as-yet unwritten bildungsroman. Not only that, but its introduction of Oberst's folky roots opened the door in my life to such beautiful discoveries as Neil Young's Harvest &, of course, comrade Dylan. If Conor Oberst sang me through adolescence, Young & Dylan welcomed me into adulthood. Without Lifted... & I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, I'm not sure I would have found the Fathers when I did. & God only knows what kind of person I'd be without those musical influences.

It wasn't until two years ago that I saw Oberst perform as Bright Eyes, at Radio City, and it was that experience that changed my perception of him as a rockstar. I went to that show at a low period in my dedication to Bright Eyes. By 2007, I'd been a fan for five or six years, and I'd seen what I thought was the best of Oberst (the explosively successful double-release of I'm Wide Awake & Digital Ash in A Digital Urn in 2005). The tour that brought him to Radio City followed the release of Cassadaga, a mediocre album with few memorable tracks. It felt like a sell-out record, & I'd begun to dismiss Oberst as a false prophet. Why waste time on an imitator when I could devote my precious hours to the Truth of Dylan?

The Radio City show changed all of that. Oberst was magnetic. He was sincere. His performances that night reminded me why I started listening to Bright Eyes in the first place: it felt like he was telling a truth that no one else could at that point in our shared cultural history. When, at the end of that show, Oberst took to the stage with the Felice Brothers & quite nearly brought down the house with a Tom Petty cover that still rattles my brain, I was flushed with joy. Whenever I talked about that night with friends, I couldn't help but compare it to my idea of Rolling Thunder. "Just you wait," I said, "He's going to blow your mind with his next project. I promise. I think he really might be our Dylan."

Those comparisons to Dylan are old & tired. Possibly even too generous. Time will tell. But in spite of my hesitations to draw those parallels, there's some truth to them. Rather than rehash the vocal comparisons, the poet-prophet labels & all of that other horseshit you've already seen in every entertainment magazine on the shelf, I want to talk about this cat as a live performer. (But seriously. Listen to "Get-Well-Cards" & tell me that's not neo-Dylan.)

Yesterday was the second time I'd seen Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band in the past year. The first was at a festival late last summer, where Oberst shared the bill with none other than Bob Dylan. Over half of the crowd had no idea who he was (the Saratoga Springs demographic is more along the lines of the burned-out suburban dad than hip neo-folk rocker), but the band's rendition of "Corrina, Corrina" turned quite a few heads. A Dylan cover. I'm just saying.

The chemistry between the band members, the polished quality of their performance, & Oberst's newly established showmanship was terribly exciting for me. I'd purchased his self-titled solo release on both vinyl & CD, had been listening to it almost non-stop for about a month, and seeing the songs performed live only reinforced my faith in Oberst as a genius of his medium.

Yesterday, at Battery Park, Oberst & the Mystic Valley Band reentered my life as live musicians, & with the added gift of Jenny Lewis as an opener, the Rolling Thunder parallels once again surfaced in my mind.

First, let's acknowledge the genius of Jenny Lewis. Years as the sweet & sassy frontwoman of Rilo Kiley (the indie band to end all indie bands) give way to the self-actualized Rabbit Fur Coat period, where our heroine finally acts on the twang in that sexy voice of hers & offers the one-two punch of country-infused atheist gospel & a Traveling Wilburys (ahem, Dylan...) cover, featuring Mr. Oberst (again, ahem...) & other luminaries of the increasingly mainstream indie scene. Then releases an infectious (if desperately overproduced & somewhat obnoxiously danceable) pop-rock record with Rilo Kiley. Then comes Acid Tongue, one of the most beautiful records I've ever had the privilege to experience.

Starting with the Rabbit Fur Coat period, Jenny starts duetting onstage with her (Neil Young-looking) lover, Johnathan Rice, evoking those beautiful moments shared between Bob & Joan in the early 60s. And at Rolling Thunder.

Yesterday, Jenny called Oberst out to join her for "Handle With Care." Already looking pretty drunk at 4 pm, Oberst sidles onstage in a big ol' hat & some tight jeans, picks up a tambourine & shares a mic with the angel-voiced Lewis, missing cues & making up for it with the charming & self-deprecating slouch of an overly self-aware & reluctant rockstar . My first thought: "Holy shit. Bob Dylan. What is this,The Last Waltz?" (I'll save that one for another day, another blog.)

Jenny blows the roof off my libido with the rest of her set, hot shorts & hair-tossing too much for even the most heterosexual of women. The highlight? A rousing & raucous performance of the best track from Acid Tongue, "The Next Messiah."

There are women with beautiful voices, women who rock, women with stage presence, but few are capable of occupying a stage like Jenny. Part lounge singer, part old-school belter, part folk goddess, all rock star, she's one of the best live performers I've ever seen. Period. I walked away from Battery Park more impressed by Jenny, despite the fact that Oberst drew a significantly larger crowd.

There was something curious about Oberst's stage presence. Generally speaking, the subject matter of his writing hasn't changed. He's still chiefly concerned with love, sex, politics & the metaphysical questions that plague most twenty-somethings. But his demeanor didn't match the material, a fact that made his performance all the more interesting. He's a long way from the swagger of Ms. Lewis, but something new is coming alive in him that I can't quite put my finger on.

Here's the thing about the new material: it's not interesting. Lyrically, it packs the same punch I've always counted on when it comes to Conor, but the production falls short. Compare "Ten Women" from the new release to last year's "Eagle on a Pole" or "Train Under Water" & lyrically, the beauty's still there. Somehow, though, the arrangement & execution of the track leave me wanting more. I don't walk away feeling much, and that's disappointing. And that's the problem with the performance as well. Conor & the Mystic Valley Band rocked my face off. No doubt about that. But the diction of his performance was less than stellar, reducing the lyrical power of the new material to sometimes-intelligible mumbles. Conor's at his best with a guitar & limited accompaniment. It lets the poetry speak for itself. And in that capacity, he's got an Olsonian quality, where his body becomes a vessel for the larger purpose of music & poetry. With the band, it's a sonic experience & little more.

(Of course, he performed the most beautiful tracks from the last record, including "Eagle," "Cape Canaveral," & "Lenders in the Temple," all of which were fantastic. When he played those songs, I felt it. Really and truly felt it. I'm sorry I couldn't say the same for much of the rest of the set.)

All of this leads me to a big question that a lot of great musicians face: how to balance the poetics of the art with the spectacle of a rock show? Dylan not only managed it, but mastered it, with Rolling Thunder. The newly forged persona, the expanded backing band, the rearranged material: all of it added up to a beautiful, chaotic mess of rock brilliance. When Conor Oberst swaggers onto the stage in those tight jeans & that big, black hat, he's playing the part of a poet-showman. And I think that's the problem. He's still playing a part, to a certain extent. The challenge now is to become that figure. He's still young, & has a lot of beautiful art to make in the future. He has the potential to create a new Rolling Thunder. His collaborators & comrades have the skill & stage presence to accomplish it, and so does he. It's just a matter of bringing it all together in the right place. & at the right time.

To close the post, the closing number from Conor's set, "Roosevelt Room," a song that feels like a long-lost Desaparecidos track. Pay close attention to the phrasing at the end of the first verse (Brand. New. Da-aaaaay.). Feels like Dylan on "Isis."