January 8, 2009
Music Review Okkervil River
On That Bumpy Road to Stardom, Insight in a Trail of Dashed Illusions
Music Review Okkervil River
On That Bumpy Road to Stardom, Insight in a Trail of Dashed Illusions
By NATE CHINEN
Self-awareness has always been a life-giving force in the reedier marshes of indie-rock. For Okkervil River, from Austin, Tex., it also borders on an obsession. Song after song on Tuesday night at the Bell House, near the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn, involved aspects of band life: stardom or fandom, perceptions and pretensions, the steady pulse of buildups and letdowns.
Will Sheff, the band’s lead singer and sole songwriter, carried these themes with conspicuous confidence. A mediocre guitarist and a messy vocalist — his quavering delivery often seemed to stop just short of a breakdown — he bristled with manic energy, squaring himself against his fastidious lyrics. At one point in the opener, “Plus Ones,” he warned that he was “not above letting a love song disappear before it’s written.” The final encore, “Another Radio Song,” began on a similar note: “Sit back, no song is written.”
Mr. Sheff was drawing from a pair of recent Okkervil River albums, “The Stage Names” and “The Stand Ins,” which were created in the same stretch of time but released (on Jagjaguwar) a year apart. Heard together, as they were originally intended, the albums present a layered take on fame and disillusionment. They also underscore Mr. Sheff’s reputation as one of the cleverest and most literary songwriters in a crowded field.
Of course he’s acutely conscious of this. The show’s second tune was “Singer-Songwriter,” an acerbically comic attack on privileged posturing. In the spirit of a youthful Bob Dylan tirade like “Positively Fourth Street,” its lyrics point an accusatory finger — “You’ve got taste,” Mr. Sheff sang in the chorus, spitting out “taste” like a curse word — before taking a meaningful turn. Here the closing tag “And your world is going to change nothing” became “And our world is going to change nothing,” and with that shift Mr. Sheff was suddenly implicating himself, along with his audience.
The deft allusions, haunting imagery and feinting rhymes in Mr. Sheff’s songs might seem to eliminate the need for a band. In fact they did, during a few acoustic stretches. But it was only after one such moment — a lethargic “Get Big,” with guest vocals by Beth Wawerna of the Brooklyn band Bird of Youth — that the show found its strongest groove.
“They’re waiting to hate you,” Mr. Sheff cried, alone at first with his guitar, “so give them an excuse.” Gradually the song, “Blue Tulip,” assumed more weight, as the band lurched into gear. Lauren Gurgiolo fashioned a slow but searing solo on guitar, and the others bashed hard around her. For a moment even Mr. Sheff seemed to forget himself.
He returned to form on “Pop Lie,” which he said Okkervil River would soon perform on “Late Show With David Letterman.” Here the beat was driving, but the tone was conflicted: “He’s the liar who lied in his pop song /And you’re lying when you sing along.” The crowd appeared distinctly unfazed by this charge: the next song, “Lost Coastlines,” ended with a rousing refrain of la-la-la-las, and you hardly need to guess what everyone did.
Self-awareness has always been a life-giving force in the reedier marshes of indie-rock. For Okkervil River, from Austin, Tex., it also borders on an obsession. Song after song on Tuesday night at the Bell House, near the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn, involved aspects of band life: stardom or fandom, perceptions and pretensions, the steady pulse of buildups and letdowns.
Will Sheff, the band’s lead singer and sole songwriter, carried these themes with conspicuous confidence. A mediocre guitarist and a messy vocalist — his quavering delivery often seemed to stop just short of a breakdown — he bristled with manic energy, squaring himself against his fastidious lyrics. At one point in the opener, “Plus Ones,” he warned that he was “not above letting a love song disappear before it’s written.” The final encore, “Another Radio Song,” began on a similar note: “Sit back, no song is written.”
Mr. Sheff was drawing from a pair of recent Okkervil River albums, “The Stage Names” and “The Stand Ins,” which were created in the same stretch of time but released (on Jagjaguwar) a year apart. Heard together, as they were originally intended, the albums present a layered take on fame and disillusionment. They also underscore Mr. Sheff’s reputation as one of the cleverest and most literary songwriters in a crowded field.
Of course he’s acutely conscious of this. The show’s second tune was “Singer-Songwriter,” an acerbically comic attack on privileged posturing. In the spirit of a youthful Bob Dylan tirade like “Positively Fourth Street,” its lyrics point an accusatory finger — “You’ve got taste,” Mr. Sheff sang in the chorus, spitting out “taste” like a curse word — before taking a meaningful turn. Here the closing tag “And your world is going to change nothing” became “And our world is going to change nothing,” and with that shift Mr. Sheff was suddenly implicating himself, along with his audience.
The deft allusions, haunting imagery and feinting rhymes in Mr. Sheff’s songs might seem to eliminate the need for a band. In fact they did, during a few acoustic stretches. But it was only after one such moment — a lethargic “Get Big,” with guest vocals by Beth Wawerna of the Brooklyn band Bird of Youth — that the show found its strongest groove.
“They’re waiting to hate you,” Mr. Sheff cried, alone at first with his guitar, “so give them an excuse.” Gradually the song, “Blue Tulip,” assumed more weight, as the band lurched into gear. Lauren Gurgiolo fashioned a slow but searing solo on guitar, and the others bashed hard around her. For a moment even Mr. Sheff seemed to forget himself.
He returned to form on “Pop Lie,” which he said Okkervil River would soon perform on “Late Show With David Letterman.” Here the beat was driving, but the tone was conflicted: “He’s the liar who lied in his pop song /And you’re lying when you sing along.” The crowd appeared distinctly unfazed by this charge: the next song, “Lost Coastlines,” ended with a rousing refrain of la-la-la-las, and you hardly need to guess what everyone did.
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