sixteen different flavours of hell
If I have to see Conor Oberst's milquetoast mug one more fucking time I'm going to seriously lose my shit. I guess the masturbating-whilst-crying set need music too, but if Bright Eyes debuting atop the Billboard singles chart is a sign of things to come, then we're all seriously fucked. Are these people planning on breeding? I've got nothing against sad bastard music; in fact my predilection for it is a constant sticking point with M, but if you're gonna mope-out, do it with flair, gravity, and a sense of tune. You want drowning your sorrows in booze music? Opt for Johnny Cash or The Replacements. You want avant isolation? Bowie, Pink Dots or select Numan. Bassy ennui? Massive Attack or Portishead. Screeching mechanical nihilism? Swans. Shit, even if you feel the need to keep your depression framed within a certified indie context, opt for Interpol fer chrissakes; the new one's not so hot but at least there's a tune and some cajones every few tracks. But Bright Eyes?
Reader Meet Author: a brief film
Scene 1: CONOR OBERST wakes up in a hotel room in a nameless midwest city, another tour stop. He gently extricates himself from the three still-sleeping fifteen year-old girls who managed to sneak past security last night. They wanted to "rescue him" by giving up their cherries, but CONOR insisted on playing guitar at them and repeatedly telling them about the mix tapes he was going to make them until they fell asleep. CONOR burps, slides on his jeans and leaves the room. He has no need to put on a tight brown shirt and navy cardigan, as his flesh naturally regrows these garments overnight.
Scene 2: CONOR is in the hotel elevator. A muzak version of "Walking On Sunshine" is playing. CONOR listlessly hums along to it. The elevator stops midway down the hotel. The doors open, and MORRISSEY enters the elevator. He is wearing an Armani suit and several gold rings.
CONOR: Omigod. Omigod. I can't believe it's you. Your music has inspired me so much...
MORRISSEY appears nonplussed.
Scene 3: The elevator doors open in the hotel lobby. MORRISSEY swiftly exits the elevator, followed by CONOR.
CONOR: ...And I knew she was reading my diary, so I wrote the lyrics to "Suedehead" in it so she'd know I knew because I couldn't tell her...
MORRISSEY exits the hotel through the front door, with CONOR in tow.
Scene 4: MORRISSEY walks to the curb just outside the hotel. CONOR is sweating profusely as he talks, running his hands through his hair. A limo with a license plate reading "D-MOZ" pulls up in front of MORRISSEY.
CONOR: ...And that's when I knew that I could never be wide to receive anyone, anyone but you.
CONOR awkwardly places one hand on MORRISSEY's package and goes in for a timid kiss. Before he can make contact, MORRISSEY delivers a swift headbutt, cracking the little punk's nose. Blood splatters the pavement. MORRISSEY follows up with a quick flurry of five punches to CONOR's stomach, finishing with a smashing right uppercut that knocks a tooth or two loose. MORRISSEY readjusts his jacket with a cool as fuck shrug. The HOTEL DOORMAN walks to the limo and opens the rear door. Nancy Sinatra's legs are almost visible in the gauzy black interior. The bangin' string riff of 50 Cent's "In Da Club" can be heard from inside the limo.
Scene 5: We get a grainy close-up of CONOR's thoroughly decimated pretty-boy looks. Out of focus in the background, MORRISSEY enters the limo without a word. The door slams shut and the limo pulls off. CONOR mournfully casts his eyes in the direction of the departing car.
CONOR: I'm...soooo...sorry...
FIN
Reader Meet Author: a brief film
Scene 1: CONOR OBERST wakes up in a hotel room in a nameless midwest city, another tour stop. He gently extricates himself from the three still-sleeping fifteen year-old girls who managed to sneak past security last night. They wanted to "rescue him" by giving up their cherries, but CONOR insisted on playing guitar at them and repeatedly telling them about the mix tapes he was going to make them until they fell asleep. CONOR burps, slides on his jeans and leaves the room. He has no need to put on a tight brown shirt and navy cardigan, as his flesh naturally regrows these garments overnight.
Scene 2: CONOR is in the hotel elevator. A muzak version of "Walking On Sunshine" is playing. CONOR listlessly hums along to it. The elevator stops midway down the hotel. The doors open, and MORRISSEY enters the elevator. He is wearing an Armani suit and several gold rings.
CONOR: Omigod. Omigod. I can't believe it's you. Your music has inspired me so much...
MORRISSEY appears nonplussed.
Scene 3: The elevator doors open in the hotel lobby. MORRISSEY swiftly exits the elevator, followed by CONOR.
CONOR: ...And I knew she was reading my diary, so I wrote the lyrics to "Suedehead" in it so she'd know I knew because I couldn't tell her...
MORRISSEY exits the hotel through the front door, with CONOR in tow.
Scene 4: MORRISSEY walks to the curb just outside the hotel. CONOR is sweating profusely as he talks, running his hands through his hair. A limo with a license plate reading "D-MOZ" pulls up in front of MORRISSEY.
CONOR: ...And that's when I knew that I could never be wide to receive anyone, anyone but you.
CONOR awkwardly places one hand on MORRISSEY's package and goes in for a timid kiss. Before he can make contact, MORRISSEY delivers a swift headbutt, cracking the little punk's nose. Blood splatters the pavement. MORRISSEY follows up with a quick flurry of five punches to CONOR's stomach, finishing with a smashing right uppercut that knocks a tooth or two loose. MORRISSEY readjusts his jacket with a cool as fuck shrug. The HOTEL DOORMAN walks to the limo and opens the rear door. Nancy Sinatra's legs are almost visible in the gauzy black interior. The bangin' string riff of 50 Cent's "In Da Club" can be heard from inside the limo.
Scene 5: We get a grainy close-up of CONOR's thoroughly decimated pretty-boy looks. Out of focus in the background, MORRISSEY enters the limo without a word. The door slams shut and the limo pulls off. CONOR mournfully casts his eyes in the direction of the departing car.
CONOR: I'm...soooo...sorry...
FIN