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On Process. On Earnestness.

My Street

Let me kick things off by saying, without hyperbole, that Fear Factor is the product of the most moronic people to ever walk the Earth.

I'm probably in way over my head here, but, with the help of some friends, I think I'm ready to outline a little personal art theory. While a lot of this has been on my mind for some time, this thread is prompted by a concert that I attended this weekend.

Let it be known that my friend Dustin (who came out from Palo Alto for the concert) and I made a near-five-hour trip to Pittsburgh this weekend to see M. Ward perform. Let it also be known that the clowns at Club Laga started the show thirty minutes early, making me and Dustin just late enough to miss M. Ward, but on time enough to make the rest of the show which was unfortunately headlined by Bright Eyes. I confronted the staff at the club about their premature opening, and I was told that they had no policy about opening bands and that no refund would be granted. Of course I was too tired to explain that I wasn't complaining about a mishap of the opening band, but about the club's negligence. Club Laga is going out of business; if their management is as irresponsible as their staff, it's obvious why. Down with Club Laga.

Anyway, I'm very sorry that I missed M. Ward, his gravely voice, his smoke stained lyrics, his dusty guitar. He deals in subtlety and reserve, his songs are sad and simple. His last album, Transfiguration of Vincent, is an homage to a deceased friend, a beautiful haunting portrait of loss and hope. Meanwhile, Bright Eyes, otherwise known as Conor Oberst, is a drunken whining hack. I had all night to listen to Conor, and I found nothing redeeming about his art. His wavering shout and clumsy guitar playing are a trademark, they do nothing but counter whatever emotion he seems so eager to convey. It seems to me that he's faking it.

Sound harsh, eh? Who am I to say that Oberst is a faker? What is it about these artists that makes one seem more authentic to me than the other? Is it the artist or is it me? It's both.

By what process are their songs written? Is it fair to say that M. Ward has the advantage because his friend died? I don't think so. Oberst attempts to tackle themes of despair that are just as weighty, although not as mysterious as death, but every bit as compelling. What's more, M. Ward's thematic isn't limited to mortality, his voice stretches around all the melancholy and nostalgia that life has to offer. I'd argue that both have valid reasons to sing to the world; dead friends or not, life is difficult, pain is acute, and I'm glad for the people that help me understand the sorrows that we all encounter.

Now, by what process is the song taken in? Sorrow rarely visits us by surprise. It's a symptom of something else. An effect dependent on various causes. A skilled songwriter will be able to guide his listener along the path to the feeling that he wants to communicate. I tried to explain to Dustin that it seemed pornographic to me, that it was almost offensive for Oberst to expose his sadness the way he does. Dustin articulated my thought perfectly: there's no process in pornography, sex is all about process. I'd say that sadness is the same way.

Oberst is sad; the woman is naked. Just as a pornographer tries to present the gratification of sex without love, Oberst eschews the nuances of pain for lyrics so laden with hyperbole and exclamation that they cram his sadness down his audience's throat. While I'm sure that Oberst's pain is every bit as real as anyone else's, his ham-fisted insistence that I feel it makes me loathe to even acknowledge it. I couldn't care less about what he tries to sound so tortured.

Oberst is earnest. He seems excessively pensive, but I don't see anything there. He can shout all he wants, he can pour alcohol down his throat to make him seem more affected, but there's nothing there. His bombastic words are nothing more than blown up pixels. It's fun to look at, but it doesn't move me, just as Warrant's "Cherry Pie" didn't make me want to fall in love. I'll take the process instead.

In case anyone is wondering, the show wasn't all bad. Dustin and I caught Jim James's performance, and he even sang "You Were Always On My Mind," entirely redeeming the show. Oh, and I also got to visit a friend who I met in Brazil and his family. The trip was entirely worthwhile, however sad I am about missing M. Ward.