Bright Eyes
Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes takes the stage at Billings Shrine Auditorium in October, 2007. (Photo by Casey Riffe)
Some obsessions are healthy. Take mine, for instance.
Back when people were still making mixed tapes on actual tapes, a friend introduced me to indie rock band Bright Eyes with “Sunrise, Sunset,” an adaptation of the song from “Fiddler on The Roof.”
And then the “Fever” played. Something in frontman Conor Oberst’s voice struck an intimate chord in me. I was an instant junkie, purchasing the band’s 2000 release, “Fevers and Mirrors.”
Oberst’s gritty honesty reached out and grabbed my pounding heart, screamed into my ears and related to me in a way no artist had since The Dead Kennedys provided inspiration for my teenage rebellion.
The songs on “Fevers and Mirrors” collectively represent a desperate loneliness, longing and lingering delusion. Indulgent and full of self-loathing, the album is riddled with sputtered words and warbling vocals, Oberst’s breath drawn long into the microphone, his life a book for anyone to read if they’d only open the cover.
Blog Posts: Nothing that the road cannot heal, Bright Eyes delivers, and then some
Print articles: Bright Eyes singer returns to Billings with new band, Bright Eyes bright light illuminates one fanatic,
Album reviews: Bright Eyes go live, Album set charts progression of Oberst, Bright Eyes, Bright Eyes frontman’s lyrics tackle tough subject matter