You Say You Want a Revolution?

When they came to see Of A Revolution (OAR) last Wednesday night at the Roxy, they came to abandon something. For one evening, they came to let go of the details of their lives, the clutter of things and people that bind them to place and to the inertia of their day-to-day existence. They threw themselves into the rhythm and followed it wherever it took them. And for a few brief moments, they actually believed they were lost, that there was nowhere and nothing but the music rising in them.

OAR were vibrant last Wednesday night. The band was strong and proud through the fear that lingered behind their lyrics. Though their words teetered on the brink of despair, they walked confidently through that valley of death.

Yes, musically, they are a talented bunch. But what makes OAR such a phenomenon, what drives teenagers in droves to their shows and inspires college students to blast their MP3s as they drink themselves into oblivion, is precisely that hint—as their name suggests—of a revolution. But OAR is not a revolution against anything concrete. It is not against governments or against people. They do not rage against the machine. Instead, they sing of a struggle that rages within ourselves. OAR is born of a revolution against everything that is superfluous to who we are—the hold of our homes, our possessions and our wealth. Almost all of the group’s songs express a haunting but invigorating drive to throw it all away, to leave and lose one’s posessions and one’s self. “Come with me and let yourself go,” they cry, “let yourself go, go, go, let yourself go.” And the crowd did. They let themselves go into the arms of the music.

The height of this abandonment came with the concert’s climax during their best known single, “Crazy Game of Poker.” OAR’s ballad about losing it all in a poker game echoes not with regret but rebirth. Accompanying the loss, explained lead singer Mark Roberge during an prelude to the song, is the realization that although you can lose your home and lose your money, “you can never lose your soul.”

Yet in order to evoke this sense of total abandonment, OAR must at times resort to casually violent language like, “he hit me across the face with a bat.” The violence of OAR’s revolution appeals to a youthful audience as a cathartic gesture, an expression of anger against the things that hold them inside. Through the music, it is transformed from a destructive urge to tear down walls to an empowering image of freedom and self-expression. Unlike Nirvana, whose anger often manifested itself physically on stage in the form of smashing guitars, OAR keeps its violence within. OAR takes us to the point of nothingness, but only to reveal that all of our obstructions are illusions.

Although the primary appeal of OAR seems to be thematic, their talent as musicians cannot and should not be overlooked. OAR has a fresh sound that is a unique blend of rock and reggae, mixing rasta rhythms with driving rock riffs. They combine standard instrumentation—drums, electric guitars and bass—with bits of vocal scat like “skittleedat dat dat, well how ‘bout that?” which augment a strong lyrical use of rhyme and alliteration. They also have a saxophone to inject a little bit of jazz into a few of songs.

And they are relatively versatile—they can move quickly and smoothly from mellow to high energy and back. Sometimes OAR bring you to your feet, but sometimes you can get away with just sitting back and nodding your head.

The versatility of OAR reflects a diverse group of influences, as evidenced by their four covers throughout their 17-song set. Most significant were Bob Marley’s “Lively Up Yourself” and Led Zepplin’s “D’yer Mak’er.” Also covered were Pearl Jam’s “Black” and the somewhat incongruous Simon & Garfunkel’s “59th Street Bridge Song (Feeling Groovy).”

However OAR’s style is classified, it certainly inspired the audience. A young group, made up of mostly high school and college students, the crowd was full of energy and enthusiasm for a band that inspired them to fight against their own chains. They came to aspire, for a moment, to a revolution, within themselves, a tearing down of everything that they had not chosen to be. And in the music, they found that revolution.

Of a revolution

At Roxy

October 10