Bright Eyes

Here he is, right in front of us. After all the gossip, after the rumors about his unbearable temper and his arrogance, after reading glowing reviews left and right, after having written him off as a spoiled kid, and after having underrated his work by listening to it through the lens of odd prejudices. At this point, the question arises naturally: so what is this Conor Oberst really worth?

I believe this live show is the right occasion to observe Conor from several angles, a way of testing his qualities and understanding what this enfant prodige is really hiding.

On a night that also had Mars Volta playing at the Rolling Stone, Milan's indie crowd turned out in force: not a huge crowd, to be clear, but a good number of people eager to understand, myself included.

The band takes the stage, but every eye is drawn to that tiny kid, dressed in dark clothes, black pencil rimming his eyes, guitar slung over his shoulder: and it's straight into country territory with "At the Bottom", the opening track from "I'm Wide Awake It's Morning", released simultaneously with "Digital Ash In A Digital Urn", an album built on electro architectures that was completely ignored (though that was to be expected).

The vibe is immediately good: the venue's acoustics are solid, the band holds up brilliantly, and Conor dominates the stage without much effort, with the charisma and drive of a seasoned performer.

What's striking is the way the young man swings between different moods, effortlessly joking around and entertaining the crowd one moment, then retreating right back into himself the next, lowering his gaze and nervously sipping a beer.

After the first three songs, taken from "I'm Wide Awake It's Morning", it's time for an old warhorse, "Method Acting", from the bestselling "Lifted Or The Story Is In The Soil Keep Your Ear To The Ground", greeted with a roar by a crowd growing ever more involved and adoring.

There are several moments of hilarity in the lulls between songs, with a girl repeatedly and rather insistently shouting out her love for young Oberst, and poor Conor - content to just smile the first two times - finally asking her, on the third, "Where are you from?" and joking awkwardly.

All this comes before the show's high point, "Lua": a moving gem for guitar and voice, performed with a warmth and intensity that leaves everyone breathless.

Conor sings of a troubled love and the questions every person in love asks themselves, losing sight of reality, doubting every one of his own qualities, every mood: he wonders whether he'll be strong enough to be with this girl, extraordinary in his lovestruck eyes, who is probably drifting through the same waters.

In that moment I felt particularly close to Conor, and I believe many in the audience sensed something special too: a young man alone on stage, laying himself bare without any stylistic posturing, letting through the thrill of someone who truly loves what he's written and what he's playing.

This is this young man's strength: he manages to make up for a few compositional shortcomings (understandable ones, mind you - we're talking about an artist with enormous room to grow) with heart and soul: he sings instinctively and with intense emotion, holding nothing back, imperfections and all, because they serve his purpose so well.

And his purpose, as I understood it, is simply to give himself to whoever is listening.

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