Conor Oberst is somehow an oddball within the confine of modern American music.

Child prodigy that has grown into an accomplished and prolific musician, he has a sculpt follow and what seems an endless supply of twist and turns to make his music always compelling and new.

This short tour to showcase his new EP Four winds and the follow up to his two last albums, Cassadega, finds Oberst and his band Bright Eyes in the intimate venue of Oxford Brooks University. The day has been spitting hailstones and snow and sharp burst of cold sunlight and it is a reflection of what the music is tonight.

Subdued in a way that can be almost be perceived as lethargic, Conor Oberst and steps on stage looking like a skinny Johnny Cash, all long, unkempt hair and black clothes.

Gone is the pretty, groomed New York boy and now Oberst, a native of Omaha, Nebraska, seems to have gotten back to his roots. With  the soft, melancholic rage of the Mid West America, where the wind and winters are harsh and the gravely of his unusual voice can tell stories that, albeit till disillusioned and cynical has some sort of rough softness that makes him close to the most celebrated Bob Dylan.

The songs tonight are roped together by a red thread of sad rage, as if there is something inside Oberst that is fuelled by his inner daemons and that translated into the most powerful songs he has produced since the celebrated Lifted in 2002.

The first song, I must belong, is a long, raspy lament and at the same time a scream of need and the need to have the possession of his own soul, his own peace. The crowd listens in silence and the notes linger in the air, trembling on the violin and Conor’s battered guitar.

As always a Bright Eyes gig is an highly emotional affair and that is almost an oxymoron per se, because Mr Oberst seems and acts always so aloof that the crowd has to really listen to catch the intensity of his soul and his music and maybe that’s exactly why he acts the way he does, turning the focus solely into the music and the beauty and pain that it can capture and convey.

The journey shifts from new songs to old, much loved songs that he has not played in a long time and in the soft, graceful melancholia of his voice Conor makes the crowd go throughout the landscape of beauty that is his creativity, his heart and his soul.

The hushed gasps of awe are whispered into the crowd and as the last note lingers, Conor looks at the crowd, hide behind his hair and disappear.

Leaving the Music.

words by Laila photography by Anja King

you can see more of Anja's work at www.anjaking.com