I Am Very Far…from seeing a show at the Trocadero again soon— A Review/Rant A couple of nights ago I headed into Philadelphia to see Okkervil River live at the Trocadero. I first heard the band back in college, circa 2005; the song “A stone” (a track on a mixed album someone had made me and my first encounter with Okkervil) had me instantly falling in love with Will Sheff’s heartbreaking vocals. I slowly, and I suppose with less awareness than I usually have about my musical intake, kind of peripherally absorbed more and more from the band, stumbling between The Stage Names and The Stand Ins by way of Black Sheep Boy. With each album I heard from the New Hampshirian/Texan indie rockers, I was progressively more intrigued by the variety of song structures, the sensual draw of Sheff’s contrastingly soothing and scaring voice, and the universal yet also just-out-of-reach lyrics (Sheff gives a lot, but definitely leaves you in the dark, knowing that a big part of every song is his alone). There is something so raw and beautiful – and I really mean raw and beautiful, not in the over-used sense of either of those words – about what this group produces that I find myself forgetting how much the music has stuck with me until I hear it again and it all comes slamming into the forefront of both my emotional and cerebral cores, a kind of re-layered telekinetically transferred sensory experience.
And so, as you might imagine from my above waxing poetic, I was pretty excited for the show—I knew that this was a band that was bound to be even more spellbinding in person. They didn’t disappoint. I mean really, they rocked, despite a less-than-encouraging crowd. Sheff had personality, plus. He most definitely played the part of entertainer, and he and bassist Patrick Pestorius were at times more theatrical (in a good way) than I would have thought. At several points toward the second half of the show I found myself laughing, dancing, and singing all at once (a sight, I’m sure), without ever being able, or wanting, to take my attention fully away from Sheff’s boyishly swaying hips and intense eyes, Pestorius’ silly, self-aware grin, or Cully Symington’s understated rhythm keeping. The set list they prepared was a perfectly balanced mix of tracks from their older albums and newest release, I Am Very Far; the last third of the 90-minute (!) set was especially intoxicating (where do they get that energy???), and, I couldn’t have been more excited to hear both “A Girl in Port” and that old favorite “A Stone”, the latter performed as a solo acoustic number by Sheff. Well, actually, let me amend that—I couldn’t have been more excited to hear the songs, that is, if I could have actually heard them.
I have never, NEVER been to a show with a worse audience. Even the burnouts at the Pearl Jam concert I attended in a field in Mass. had more respect for the artists (and the people actually, gasp!, there to hear the music) than did the assembly who yell-talked drunken banter around me, growing louder as the tracks did. There were, of course, some apparently die-hard fans, though they definitely seemed to be in the minority, a situation that I thought rare considering the particular show. Okkervil River isn’t a band I would have chosen to draw a crowd looking for some beers and background music. Partial blame, I suppose, can go to Sheff, though, I have a hard time placing even that on him. While it is the job of the performer to understand the crowd dynamic and to manipulate that dynamic as necessary, there is definitely a line between being “rowdy” and being just plain ignorant. I don’t think there’s much more Sheff could have done to get at these folks and I actually give him and the other band members a lot of credit for not saying “#!$* this” and leaving. I think what kept me from leaving was that (aside from the fact that the music was that good, even being imposed on as it was by noise), on some level, it seemed like Sheff just didn’t care – he was there to make music and that’s what he was going to do – and I kind of loved that.
But what, I wondered as I walked to my car after the show, was going on in there? I hated that I felt ashamed of being part of such a discourteous group and thus, in typical Courtney fashion, proceeded to over-analyze. I had been to the Troc before (though not recently) and remembered that the acoustics aren’t the absolute best, but they’re certainly not the worst either. And, generally speaking, the attendees who wanted to drink through the show usually stayed at or near the upstairs bar, leaving downstairs mostly free of overwhelming ambient noise. Was the prevailing attitude at this event symbolic of a larger cultural trend? I know that a lot has been said about the “me generation” and about how we’re all a part of a certain breed of socially challenged, narcissistic bunch incapable of empathy, but I hadn’t really experienced this inclination, face-to-face, as it were (rather than on Facebook, let’s say).
I came to two possible conclusions. Perhaps Facebook is the key here. Well, not just Facebook, but the whole online culture, based as it is on supposed anonymity. For the majority of the general population in America online interaction is the norm. For that interaction to take place, be it blogging, surfing the web, social networking, or what have you, the user must develop an online persona. It can be as simple as a kid looking up YouTube videos, or something more complicated and involved, like a zoology expert spending his spare time creating online tutorials on beekeeping. Whatever the situation, the key to those personas is in large part the accessibility of anonymity. Unless they want to, no one has to actually own up to whatever material they are depositing or consuming on the internet, and so if it is offensive to another user, so what? There is little accountability as far as the real person is concerned. It seems that perhaps online cultural norms and standards are seeping into the offline, rather than the other way around. No one at the show could be held responsible for ruining my night because in the darkened venue, like on the internet, they could hide behind whatever persona they created, having carried their egocentric virtual selves into the public sphere, forgetting that their actions very tangibly effect the people around them.
Virtual/Physical split aside, my second thought was of blame displacement due to another trend—habit. In the midst of the current economic recession (yes, I know, another tired topic), I think we have grown accustomed to mediocrity and apathy. If it seems that no matter what we do we can’t change our own circumstance, then how can we be held responsible for how we impact others? Nothing is our fault, right? I’m qualified for a job, and actively seeking one, but can’t get hired. It’s out of my control. translates to It’s not my fault the bar is in the middle of the performance space, I’m just drinking here. I can’t help it if the acoustics amplify my conversation, maybe that person glaring at me should have come earlier and gotten closer to the stage. Habitual displacement of blame due to lack of economic control, and thus, control over lots of other aspects of life.
But please don’t let my musings here be misunderstood—I am certainly not in the business of providing excuses for a philistine bunch who can’t appreciate a musical talent, even when one is literally staring them in the face, or at the very least, have the decency to respect those who can. Even in a recession one thing that people can still control is their level of grace in social situations and as such, people should own what they can, like civility, where they can, like at a concert that I’ve paid to see.
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