Conor Oberst, lead singer of Bright Eyes, has issues. That much was evident from the Bright Eyes show at the Pabst Theater Monday. Oberst did not address the audience until the last song of the encore, where he kept his back half turned and meekly said, "Thanks for coming out."

Then Oberst and the band launched into an intense, noisy and indulgently extended version of "Old Soul Song (For the New World Order)" that featured Oberst jumping onto a drum and culminated with him dramatically throwing his guitar down on an amp. He then tried to push the amp off stage before collapsing onto the floor. Then, as if bored or disinterested with finishing the song or pushing the amp into the audience, he quickly stood and exited the stage.

With music as heavy as his, one can forgive the explosive outbursts and extreme shyness. The show up until that point was terrific, and showcased the expansive diversity of the songs Oberst and his band have crafted. Each song sounded louder and more alive at The Pabst and the violent strums of the guitars and keyboard vaulted that sound up to the rafters, shaking the glossy chandelier on the ceiling ever so slightly. The Pabst setting was the perfect marriage between an artist and a venue.

The show kicked off with the so-so "An Attempt to Tip the Scales," with Oberst characteristically making a delayed entrance. But it was the second song—"Another Travelin' Song" from I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning—that got the show rolling. With its Johnny Cash, country-like vibe, the song perfectly showcased Oberst's strengths.

Oberst has remarkable control over his voice, which sounds stronger live than on his albums. He straddles a delicate balance between smooth and raspy, and just when he seems he's about to shout, he pulls back a bit. He teeters back and forth from hurt and anguish to genuine vulnerability, sometimes within a few lines of the same song.

The other strength, and perhaps the greatest strength of Bright Eyes, is the songwriting. Many of the songs are like short stories condensed into three or four minutes. Oberst is perhaps the only singer to attribute a lover to a book, which he does on "You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will," a great song from Lifted with an unfortunately pretentious title.

"Lover I Don't Have to Love"—another song from Lifted—perfectly encapsulated that literary element to the lyrics. With its quaint keyboard intro that reverberated throughout the theater, it was the highlight of the show. Its only rival might have been "Bowl of Oranges" (yet another Lifted song, which along with I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, are the best Bright Eyes albums). The diverse instrumentation of the song and sweet lyrics ("And every time you feel like crying / I'm gonna try and make you laugh") prove that not all of Oberst's songs are dark and depressing.

In fact, the majority of the set list did not fit into that category. The show was up-tempo and lively and the jam-packed, talkative crowd noticeably responded. The show was obviously an ode to diehard Bright Eyes fans, as songs from newer albums Cassadaga and Digital Ash in a Digital Urn were largely ignored in favor of older material. But if Oberst really wants to pay his respects to his diehard fans, maybe next time he can summon the courage to acknowledge them earlier in the show—and without his back turned.