Featured Essay: Love at the Abbey Pub: Okkervil River's Black Sheep Boy

by Penelope Khole

Okkervil River’s Black Sheep Boy opens simply enough – some raspy vocals and an acoustic guitar. Some light piano accompaniment. But then…a discordant hum lingers, hinting at what comes next. Low, smoke-blown-through-the-microphone lyrics and barely audible strumming lead into an explosive introduction to the talent of the rest of the band – “For Real.” Will’s plaintive wails and gravely recitations echo over a distorted-yet-melodic cacophony. The driving rhythm rises into a half instrumental song that ends as sharply as it began…and leaves one hungry for more, anticipating what might come next. This journey from calm and almost comforting indie acoustics to up-beat, or even raging, rock is one that’s repeated across the album. While the pacing and force of the songs oscillate between tracks, the distorted and discordant edge remains. 

The music itself deserves attention on its own, but one literally cannot listen to Okkervil River without diving into the lyrics. In this album, alone, Will has cobbled together some of the best word play and poetry that even the most well read and musically exposed among us are sure to be stopped in their tracks by. The imagery in “A Stone” inspires visions of a romantic past, and the prose of “So Come Back, I am Waiting” leave one listless on the floor of a quickly cooling shower stall without having to set foot in one. The melancholy air the writing evokes is so tangible that it feels almost as though one’s fingers might prune in the thick, humid sadness the later tracks delve into.

As the album comes to a close, the songs layer their ideas and call back to one another. “A Stone” references the preceding song, “A King and a Queen,” and lays down thoughts that are called upon just a few tracks later on “A Song for Our So-Called Friend.” With all of this in mind, one can see that Will and company have not just created 11 songs and put them on an album together, but woven a tapestry of sounds and feelings that rely upon appreciating one part to understand the next, or sometimes the former. In a poetic finish to an album that starts by rising up to crescendos of brass and cracking yells, the finale drags one into the gutters of loss, of struggle, and of failure. The horns that once topped the mountains of energy and the ferocity of Will’s cries wind down to dreary pronouncements and haunting orchestration. The hunger this record instills in it’s listeners at the beginning is fed, bountifully, with heartfelt couplets and refrains of heartache till, as the last notes fade, one is not just sated – but devastated.

Many records, particularly of the sad indie sort, have graced my ears over the decades. Like others, I have my lists – short and long alike. Okkervil River’s ‘Black Sheep Boy’ hosts songs that appear on so very many of those lists – again, short and long alike. I still recall my first introduction to the band and their music at the Abbey Pub in Chicago, on their first tour outside of Texas. They followed Catfish Haven, a band I knew personally (if tangentially) through some friends, and opened for The Decemberists, a band I thought would outshine anything else I saw that night. That single concert sits atop my shortest lists as the single most profound musical awakening of my life, with Okkervil River the real star of that show. The now dilapidated hoodie I bought that night still hangs in my closet. I can still see the band selling me my ticket, taking my stub, and accepting my gleefully spent money on their red-on-brown merchandise in my head when I recall the event.

There is a lot more I could say about this band, and this album, and that show… and I probably will say it at some point, or have said it before, or will say it again. If you know me, you’ve heard this all before. That night I became a convert, and I have and will hold vigil for this album on dark nights, in lonely rooms, and perhaps sometimes with a fellow adherent. Just as Okkervil River wove a tapestry of song; so, too, have they woven themselves into the tapestry of me. And I am more beautiful for it. My definition of great art is something that makes one feel. This album has made me feel for 20 years now, and I don’t see an end in sight. Black Sheep Boy is great art. Get listening, and get ready to feel.