Now Reading



Oberhofer is the brooding, quiet kid you’d never expect to see get up on the mic and lose his shit. Oberhofer is the earnest seventeen-year-old at the dance who doesn’t dance with any of the girls though has more sex appeal from the water fountain than the entire basketball team. Oberhofer believes in his guitar frantically, knowing that without it he’ll become faithless and wander about in search of a church.

Oberhofer has owned a drum set, bass, guitar, keyboards, vibes, piano, clarinet, violin, and theremin for many years. Oberhofer writes all the music and plays all the instruments because he fears himself more than he fears others, and fear is key. Oberhofer worries that his album isn’t right so he writes 106 albums. Oberhofer listens to himself and cringes. Oberhofer plays the music of his dead grandmothers. Oberhofer sees the future. Oberhofer plays the chorus of a song within the first twenty seconds. Oberhofer composes one thousand piano pieces, each named after a friend or a fan. Oberhofer only believes in the mantra “I write a song for the next song.” Oberhofer cries when he sings. Oberhofer dents the microphone’s mesh with his teeth. Oberhofer has said his own last name so often the “o” vowel has become a permanent shape in his throat.

Oberhofer is spinning, circling about the diamond in his mind as he is flung far and wide by fame. Oberhofer has gone to NYU to study composition; but never mind that. Oberhofer is the French Kicks, The Killers, Death From Above 1979, and Animal Collective. Oberhofer isn’t any of them. Oberhofer wants to remember a love at first sight. Oberhofer is so self-absorbed that it feels like he’s singing about us. Oberhofer is no giver. Oberhofer will play all his instruments for us. Oberhofer will carry on without us. »

See Also

– Ethan Martin

Catch Oberhofer live in Portland this month September 15 at Crystal Ballroom