Rebel rocker is a firecracker at the Bowl

Conor Oberst got his first taste of a roaring crowd Saturday only a few lines into “Don’t Know When but a Day is Gonna Come,” the opening song of the set his band, Bright Eyes, played at the Hollywood Bowl.

“They’ll kill a man for what his father’s done,” the 28-year-old singer-songwriter hissed, following that line with an obscenely dismissive insult about said paterfamilias, and then the final blow: “I’m not him.” The audience went nuts.

There’s no better Oedipus figure in rock today than Oberst -- no one more seemingly fated to act, more furious or mythically proportioned. This special performance, pairing Bright Eyes with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, served as another sign of Oberst’s coronation. But as one would expect from a rebel son, he didn’t stand on ceremony.

Since his comet-like arrival on the national stage seven years ago, the 27-year-old Omaha native has relentlessly been declared the New [insert iconic boomer singer-songwriter here]. But Oberst goes beyond the legacy that nourishes him by acting almost as if it doesn’t exist. His songwriting might borrow from Gram Parsons, Allen Ginsberg or Charles Bukowski (to cite just three elders), but it’s so intimate, and so resplendently ego-driven, that those sources fade from view.

Saturday’s retrospective set showed Oberst’s growth from the florid but almost impenetrable early song “Arienette,” about an imaginary girlfriend, to the equally dramatic but much more nuanced “Hot Knives,” which isn’t a personal song at all but a character study that questions the confines of feminine roles. There were political songs -- Oberst has often challenged the Bush administration -- wishful love songs, lurid confessions and an invocation of Christ.

Wherever he and the band ranged thematically or musically, Oberst remained the center of attention. His voice, a forceful yet wobbly tenor communicating constant upheaval, is by far the most distinctive musical element in Bright Eyes. The band is not dull -- multi-instrumentalist and producer Mike Mogis led vibrant and varied arrangements, and the whole band played with fierce commitment. But Oberst’s voice cut through it all, the way a whisper sometimes can in a crowded room.

His magnetism fit within a band setting; he obviously loves the sparks generated when musicians collide, and he’s chosen mates with enough talent to find their place within his aura. But the band’s pairing with the Philharmonic was anticlimactic.

Suzie Katayama, who’s been a music director and arranger for rock stars including Björk, Beck and Madonna, conducted the Philharmonic with a fluid hand that kept Bright Eyes in the lead, but the arrangements, by band keyboardist and trumpeter Nathaniel Walcott, mostly just punched up the endings of each song. No soloists were featured, and the band dominated throughout, not making the orchestra inaudible but overcoming its dynamic range and sometimes making its contributions seem like mere amplification.

One exception was “Lime Tree,” a bluntly poetic song about an abortion, from “Cassadaga,” the latest Bright Eyes album. Oberst sang it alone in front of the orchestra, strumming an acoustic guitar. Queasy strings and sharp horns added dimension, not just drama, to the tale; Oberst let the arrangement guide his careful vocal.

Mostly, however, he remained unengaged with the talented troupe behind him. He turned around at one point and shouted, “You still awake up there?” Then after they had departed, he made a comment about their “lemon-sucking faces.”

That wasn’t too polite, but poise isn’t what people want from this blabbermouth oracle. The evening’s high points came when Oberst caught a groove with his band (whose members, with the exception of Walcott, also seemed oblivious to the throng of musicians playing with them). The Philharmonic-free encores were particularly strong. Opener Matt Ward joined Oberst for a song; Ward’s easier style gracefully softened Oberst’s edge.

And the blistering finale, a new protest song called “What Good Are You?,” had the band and guest tambourine and maracas players Rachel Blumberg and Janet Weiss (yes, she formerly of Sleater-Kinney) throwing in all their energy to make this a big, chaotic, classic-rock moment. The pairing with the Philharmonic wasn’t a failure, but it proved extraneous. This was what Oberst excels at -- making himself and his friends the center of something new.

The evening’s two openers showed other ways to make indie-rock big enough for the Bowl. M. Ward -- the Portland, Ore.-based band led by Matt, also known as “M” -- played rootsy saloon-rock with some garage-punk thrown in for fun. Ward’s humor and gentleness belied serious musicianship, which he displayed covering an instrumental by guitar genius John Fahey. The band’s warmth made you root for its members, and they were warmly received.

Yo La Tengo, the veteran New Jersey group that Oberst later declared he’d been a fan of for half his life, chose a set list that fully captured its wide-ranging style. Bright Eyes treats rock like it’s brand new; Yo La Tengo meticulously honors the tradition, exploring eras and styles with tender loving care. Playing gentle psychedelic ballads, a funk-soul tribute, hard-core punk or the nearly 20-minute feedback fest, “The Story of Yo La Tengo,” the band showed that it’s earned its place in rock history.

That’s a noble way to go, even if it doesn’t have the glamour of Conor Oberst’s bold grab for the crown.

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ann.powers@latimes.com