Matt Berninger is a
great songwriter, but it took me a long time to figure that out. The first things I notice about The National songs are the weird interplay between the musical rhythms and the lyrical rhythms, and the repetitive lines. Now that I've looked closer, I often like what he does with his words. Berninger wrote the lyrics to The National's "England" in part about this weird music venue in Koreatown, LA. It's literally a Catholic church, a cathedral, that they rent out for shows. If you know me very well at all, you probably know that religion isn't my thing. Cathedrals, though, with their vaulted ceilings, attention to detail, feelings of immensity, and glorious acoustics? I loved touring old cathedrals and basilicas during my time in Europe. I even went so far as to take a course in college called Medieval Church Architecture between the 4th and 12th Centuries. Believe me when I tell you that contemporary alt folk performed in a cathedral is most certainly my thing.
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| Odessa Jorgensen on night one |
I flew to Los Angeles to see a couple of shows in part because I needed to escape December in Minnesota; in part to see several old friends who, as part of the mass exodus of young people from Oklahoma, relocated to LA in the last decade; and in part to see this music venue. Conor Oberst did a two night stand in the Cathedral Sanctuary. I attended both nights, but you're getting one blog post
about it.
This show happened five weeks after I had caught Conor in Omaha, at a tiny performance in the gear-up to the election in which he said (quite rightly) that you would have to be insane to vote for Donald Trump. It happened a month, almost to the day, after many of our fellow citizens proved to be just exactly that kind of crazy. And it happened about a week after he suffered a death in the family. It was a brutal show, but beautiful in every way.
Odessa Jorgensen opened night one. She's a singer songwriter who plays guitar, and I was unfamiliar with her work. I quite enjoyed the set, but I have to admit that three months later, I don't remember that much about it.
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| Phoebe Bridgers on night two. |
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| Conor and Miwi |
Not so for Phoebe Bridgers, the night two opener. I had caught her at Pageturners on the night the Cubs snapped their 100-year World Series drought, and I was somewhat concerned that my fond memory of her music was influenced by the warm glow about everything that happened that night. Phoebe is from LA, a hometown kid who suddenly (it seemed to me) made it pretty big, touring with Conor Oberst and Ryan Adams, who produced her first single. Her voice is incredible, her style captivating. And all her songs are deeply sad -- this appeals to me. She said she was nervous, but I couldn't tell until she did. She played everything she'd released (I love them, four songs though they are), and some she hasn't (I'm really looking forward to that record). Phoebe is apparently a fan of Bright Eyes. She told a story about having gotten a weird haircut on the day she played a coffeeshop show of mostly Conor covers. Then she played an absolutely stunning version of "Bad Blood", a deep cut from an album of rarities called
Noise Floor -- even some of the rabid fans I was sitting with didn't recognize it. I think that record is really underrated, and "Bad Blood" is one example of the jewels on it. I wish I had a recording of that cover, because holy hell. I bought her 7", produced by DRA, at this show, and a little CD of covers she'd done, including one by Elliot Smith. These were almost acceptable substitutes for that Bright Eyes cover.
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| Take me to church. |
Conor and Miwi played almost the same show they had in Omaha, on both nights. First, the ten-song
Ruminations set. They sounded great, with that pared back instrumentation echoing off those vaulted ceilings. Conor's introduction to "You All Loved Him Once" was special. "This is about one of the more unfortunate attributes of humankind, and that's hero worship. Because it always ends up with the hero being dead. Case in point," he said, turning around to look up at the front of the church, searching for a crucifix. "Where is he? He's up there. He's dead."
The second-to-last song of the set both nights was a Replacements cover, "Here Comes a Regular", that almost killed me. It was dedicated to Conor's brother Matt, who he said had taught him how to play it when he was a kid, 11 or 12 years old. I'm not one to cry at shows, but it was a hauntingly beautiful cover of a song that's already sad. The song has a bunch of great lyrics that I think encapsulate the pain of growing up, losing friends, and losing track of what home is.
I used to live at home; now I stay at the house. It was an exquisite tribute.
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