Bright Eyes | William the Conqueror
Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton
Tuesday 24th June 2025
Eclectic Omaha legends bring their box of instruments and love of Peaky Blinders to Wolverhampton. This is the first day of Sam Lambeth’s life.
William the Conqueror must be the only band to receive polite heckles. When a fan in the front row requests a deep cut Jesus Died A Young Man, it’s with the kind of reserved pleasantness you expect when someone asks if you’ve finished with a newspaper. Even better are the shouts of “thank you” the three-piece receives upon playing it. The Gallaghers would be spinning in their monobrowed graves at such lovey dovey kindness, but William the Conqueror exudes it. Maybe it’s the fact they seem genuinely chuffed to be here, maybe it’s the Cornish sea air running through their veins or maybe it’s that they produce the kind of scorched alt country that only Wilco do better, but everyone in the room has warmed to them by the end of their set.
It’s clear that Conor Oberst isn’t English. While most British people are complaining about the heat like Mark Corrigan trying to control his boiler, the Bright Eyes frontman swaggers onto the stage with the hood of his thick-looking jacket up. With his lank black locks draped across his frowning face, the Nebraska native looks like he’s about to go 12 rounds with Conor Benn. Either he’s read up on what Wolverhampton can be like after 8pm, or he’s ready for a musical battle.
And it’s a fitting symbol of Bright Eyes’ music – impossible to define, scrappy in spirit and with a pugilistic rage always brimming beneath the surface. It’s there from the beginning with the infectious strut of Bells and Whistles, whose jaunty rhythms are interrupted with stabs of distortion and Oberst running to the drum riser like he’s been zapped with a cattle prod.
The band’s 2024 album Five Dive, All Threes contains a lot of brisk, positive charm, but there are still underlying elements of deep emotional gravity. The galloping acoustics of El Capitan is cloaked in funereal aesthetics, while Oberst wonders, “I never thought I’d see 45, how is it that I’m still alive?” in the gentle sway of Bas Jan Ader. Meanwhile, the group have many of the Wolverhampton crowd choking back the tears on the contemplative ballad Tiny Suicides.
The group clearly enjoy their instruments, too. When he isn’t jumping around giddily like an off-duty dad, guitarist Mike Mogis is adding expressive mandolin to the gentle We Are Nowhere and It’s Now, as well as steel pedal and banjo to a bunch of others.
Fellow long-time member Nate Walcott – owner of the best side parting in the business – almost has whiplash from quickly switching between keys and trumpet. Oberst shows off his own chops, too, busting out the harmonica (“an ancient piece of kit, handed down by the Druids”) on the epic Gold Mine Gutted and getting behind the piano for the mournful Spring Cleaning.
Oberst’s voice has long had a similar vibe to the late Austin eccentric Daniel Johnston, so it’s perhaps no surprise that they pay homage with a wonderful, rich and full cover of Devil Town. But while Johnston’s lyrics were deceptive in their simplicity, Oberst has always been a literate, thought-provoking writer. Their biggest hit First Day Of My Life has a wide-eyed wonder that has rendered it forever relevant. Meanwhile, a politicised discomfort and bite runs through Road to Joy and Land Locked Blues.
Throughout the show, Oberst himself changes emotions as unilaterally as the group changes tempos. One moment the singer looks troubled and dazed, the next he’s spinning and frolicking like a Strictly contestant. His stage banter often has a shambling quality to it, whether he’s going into a rant about the state of the world or trying to schmooze Wolverhampton natives by saying he loves the Birmingham-set show Peaky Blinders (the crowd does not appreciate this). Multi-instrumentalist MiWi La Lupa does slightly better, saying he couldn’t wait to play Wolverhampton because Lady Wulfruna ran with wolves “and that’s the kind of girl I can really dig.”
The impressively-sized crowd are on Oberst’s side from the very beginning, however. Lank-haired pensioners gyrate and collide in beer-fuelled embraces. Younger men – mostly in scruffy attire, mostly bearded, mostly wearing glasses – shout requests and look on with the admiration of a big brother.
Ending with One for You, One for Me, Bright Eyes remains a curious but highly compelling entry into the American songbook. At times folky and introspective, at others charging and fuzzy, Oberst and co thrive on being unpredictable. It’s that mercurial spirit that’s seen them remain a touchstone of alternative rock since the turn of the century. Now Oberst just needs to keep perfecting his salsa moves.
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Bright Eyes are on Facebook. You can find William the Conqueror at their website.
All words by Sam Lambeth. Sam is a journalist and musician. More of his work for Louder Than War is available on his archive. You can find his music on Spotify.
All photos by Paul Reynolds. He can be found on Instagram.
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