Keeping up with the Obersts
I swear that I'm not just buying into the hype with this new Bright Eyes record. I'm not even a Bright Eyes fan, really. I have Lifted, Bright Eyes' previous album. But, it's never really sunk in. I've never given it much of a chance to. Because of the hype that preceeded it. Because of the rave reviews that followed it. Because of my own laziness or distraction or preconceptions.
So, why did I rush to the record store on Tuesday to get Conor Oberst's (aka Bright Eyes) new album, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning? Well, I guess I fell for everything that I didn't fall for with his previous release. I fell for the hype; there's been talk about this album being his tour de force for some time now. And, I fell for the press' tongue-bath, going against even my gut feeling from previous conclusions drawn about zines like Pitchfork, who gave the record an 8.7.
But, I also did some research, checking out a couple samples from the label's site, which nudged me into taking the risk even though the samples turned out to be the album's weaker offerings. And, my research also led me to the conclusion that Bright Eyes' other new offering, Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, was probably not going to be my cup of tea.
As I discuss this album, understand that I have little history with Conor Oberst. I don't know much about his past records, or his past. Other than the usual "boy wunderkind" tag that seems to have permanently attached itself to Oberst, even though he's now in his mid-20s. So, my opinion of his work is, for the most part, not tainted. No, I couldn't sit on a jury if Oberst was to be tried for manslaughter tomorrow. I know more than some. But, it does seem that Oberst is trying to be convicted of manslaughter with the release of Wide Awake. It's a record that on the surface seems more mature, more supple, more of a discussion with the listener, more of this earth. More "Americana," as they say. It seems he's attempting to slay his prior demons, the boyishness and crudeness that has dogged him throughout his career. He's certainly created a record that will have a greater appeal.
Wide Awake was supposedly written while the Omaha kid was hanging out in the Big Apple. Seems like an odd setting to compose a record of countrified folk songs. Seems like an odd place to try to connect with your inner-Dylan. Then again, NYC is also where Dylan connected with his inner-self on multiple occasions, so what do I know?
I've given this record exactly three spins. That might seem like too few to pass judgment, but I believe that the first impression is often the lasting impression—and for good reason—when it comes to music. I don't want my brain (or further literature) to muddy-up what my the rest of my body is telling me. And the rest of my body is telling me that this is a great record. Not monumental. Not without its doubts. Maybe not even career-defining. But, possibly, career-redefining.
On the opener, "At the Bottom of Everything," Oberst takes us through an uncomfortable, spoken-word intro to set up a tale of our eventual meeting with our maker. The song kicks off much like the opener to Ryan Adam's Heartbreaker, except in a completely different tone. The tune itself is an acoustic, mandolin-led ditty that would sound totally comfortable on Wilco/Billy Bragg's two odes to Woody Guthrie. As a bonus, My Morning Jacket's Jim James lends his voice to the song's chorus. (I didn't even recognize him stripped of all his usual reverb.) The song's soul-searching lyrics—which conclude "I found out I am really no one"—are infused with Oberst's childlike enthusiasm, which (for the first time) I realize reminds me to some degree of Jad Fair. Taken in this context, I'm not as turned off by Oberst's hyperactivity or his gentle naiveté. I'm also not sure that I could have said that three or four years ago. But, as I've grown older, I have created more space for sincerity, and increased the rent on sarcasm and cynicism. So, where once a voice like Oberst's might have been refused a couch to crash on, he's now taken in and fed.
"We Are Nowhere and It's Now" is one giant rhetorical question: "Why are you scared to dream of God, when it's salvation that you want?" A favorite lyric appears, too: "Like stars that clear have been dead for years, but the idea still lives on." The song itself is an uncluttered acoustic tune, spliced together with drum fills, piano embellishments, and flourishes of trumpet. And, most importantly, the weary background vocals of Emmylou Harris, who makes the first of three appearances. Harris lends the song her expert touch, providing a vibrant backdrop and interesting contrast to Oberst's warbly, youthful voice.
"Old Soul Song (for the New World Order)" is a melancholic, pedal-steel number for the headphones that swirls into a wall-of-sound whose cacophony reflects the song's lyrics: "We walked for forty blocks to the middle of the place we heard that everything would be. And there were barricades to keep us off the street. But the crowd kept pushing foward 'til they swallowed the police. They went wild...". As the song's confidence builds, the dueling drummers increase their intensity, the background vocals blend with the drone of the pedal steel and the trumpet sails over the whole mass. It's the record's first rocking moment, and it's a memorable one.
Oberst promptly brings the lights down for the follow-up, "Lua," choosing to provide us with only his acoustic guitar and voice. The decision fits the introspective, travelling-light ballad to a T. "Train Under Water" is another mid-tempo ballad, this time in the model of Gram Parsons and the Byrds. It brings us to Wide Awake's center; with only five songs remaining, we've been treated to a mellow affair thus far.
"First Day of My Life," which would have been a great selection for the mix I did for Mary and her newborn son, keeps the mood relaxed. It's actually about the sense of rebirth we can feel when falling in love. And as I type this, I am aware that this sounds cheesy. And, I won't deny that it is. But if Journey is Velveeta, then this tune would have to be brie. It's a more eloquent sort of emo than, say, Dashboard Confessional. Ultimately, I could do without it, though.
But "Another Travelin' Song," I could do with more of. The album's first rocker from the get-go, it's a straightforward Johnny Cash country-rocker blessed by more pedal steel, vibrating organ, again a pair of drummers and Emmylou's sweet backing vocals. But it's just a teaser to the magnificent, Dylan-esque "Landlocked Blues," which features Emmylou in a duet that reminds me—in such a good way—of an update on the traditional ballad Emmylou would do with Gram (or for a more modern reference, see the fabulous Chitlin' Fooks). Oberst hits a handful of lyrical home runs on this one, including this dandy: "A good woman will pick you apart. A box full of suggestions for your possible heart. And you may be offended and you may be afraid, but don't walk away, don't walk away." But, ultimately, that's just what he does. This sense of the wandering stranger addled by drugs seems critical to Oberst's definition of himself at the current juncture. He seems wiser, but unable to fully realize, afraid to commit, and uneasy with the thought of growing old.
"Poison Oak" strikes me as more of dusty, stark, Springsteen ballad. Again, it grapples with a feeling of restlessness that inspires confusion masquerading as spite, the fuel that drives this young soul. "Road to Joy" brings the album to a close. Moreso than any other song on the album, this particular one paints Oberst as the vocal minority of his country's bewildered youth: "So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing, it's best to join the side that's going to win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're going to make them goddamn certain how it's going to end." While it's not quite his own "Masters of War," Oberst gets an A for effort. He ends the song by hitting the nail squarely on the head: "Failure's always sounded better, so let's fuck it up boys. Make some noise!"
By all accounts that I've read, Wide Awake is superior to Digital Ash in terms of songwriting and execution. I suspect Digital Ash will receive more kudos from the youth brigade, however, as its been Postal Serviced in comparison to this album. But, I do think that this album will be of more interest to the aged sect, which is probably what Oberst had in mind when he recruited Emmylou and Jim James and set out to record a country record. I can see this album appealing to fans of Okkervil River, in particular, which is a poor reference point as there are far fewer fans of OR than BE, and OR basically took BE's schtick and ran with it. So, maybe I should say "Recommended if you like Ryan Adams, but with more 'tude and lewd." Nah, that doesn't quite nail it either. Well, I'm not going to say that Bright Eyes is the second coming of Dylan. That's laughable. So, let's just say he's on to something good here. If you felt like you couldn't quite get into Lifted—maybe you were turned off by his bratty attitude or his lack of clarity—or you simply steered clear of Bright Eyes until now, then it's likely that you'll be surprised by this record. Conor Oberst definitely snuck up on me.
N/P—The Carter Family, "Single Girl, Married Girl"
So, why did I rush to the record store on Tuesday to get Conor Oberst's (aka Bright Eyes) new album, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning? Well, I guess I fell for everything that I didn't fall for with his previous release. I fell for the hype; there's been talk about this album being his tour de force for some time now. And, I fell for the press' tongue-bath, going against even my gut feeling from previous conclusions drawn about zines like Pitchfork, who gave the record an 8.7.
But, I also did some research, checking out a couple samples from the label's site, which nudged me into taking the risk even though the samples turned out to be the album's weaker offerings. And, my research also led me to the conclusion that Bright Eyes' other new offering, Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, was probably not going to be my cup of tea.
As I discuss this album, understand that I have little history with Conor Oberst. I don't know much about his past records, or his past. Other than the usual "boy wunderkind" tag that seems to have permanently attached itself to Oberst, even though he's now in his mid-20s. So, my opinion of his work is, for the most part, not tainted. No, I couldn't sit on a jury if Oberst was to be tried for manslaughter tomorrow. I know more than some. But, it does seem that Oberst is trying to be convicted of manslaughter with the release of Wide Awake. It's a record that on the surface seems more mature, more supple, more of a discussion with the listener, more of this earth. More "Americana," as they say. It seems he's attempting to slay his prior demons, the boyishness and crudeness that has dogged him throughout his career. He's certainly created a record that will have a greater appeal.
Wide Awake was supposedly written while the Omaha kid was hanging out in the Big Apple. Seems like an odd setting to compose a record of countrified folk songs. Seems like an odd place to try to connect with your inner-Dylan. Then again, NYC is also where Dylan connected with his inner-self on multiple occasions, so what do I know?
I've given this record exactly three spins. That might seem like too few to pass judgment, but I believe that the first impression is often the lasting impression—and for good reason—when it comes to music. I don't want my brain (or further literature) to muddy-up what my the rest of my body is telling me. And the rest of my body is telling me that this is a great record. Not monumental. Not without its doubts. Maybe not even career-defining. But, possibly, career-redefining.
On the opener, "At the Bottom of Everything," Oberst takes us through an uncomfortable, spoken-word intro to set up a tale of our eventual meeting with our maker. The song kicks off much like the opener to Ryan Adam's Heartbreaker, except in a completely different tone. The tune itself is an acoustic, mandolin-led ditty that would sound totally comfortable on Wilco/Billy Bragg's two odes to Woody Guthrie. As a bonus, My Morning Jacket's Jim James lends his voice to the song's chorus. (I didn't even recognize him stripped of all his usual reverb.) The song's soul-searching lyrics—which conclude "I found out I am really no one"—are infused with Oberst's childlike enthusiasm, which (for the first time) I realize reminds me to some degree of Jad Fair. Taken in this context, I'm not as turned off by Oberst's hyperactivity or his gentle naiveté. I'm also not sure that I could have said that three or four years ago. But, as I've grown older, I have created more space for sincerity, and increased the rent on sarcasm and cynicism. So, where once a voice like Oberst's might have been refused a couch to crash on, he's now taken in and fed.
"We Are Nowhere and It's Now" is one giant rhetorical question: "Why are you scared to dream of God, when it's salvation that you want?" A favorite lyric appears, too: "Like stars that clear have been dead for years, but the idea still lives on." The song itself is an uncluttered acoustic tune, spliced together with drum fills, piano embellishments, and flourishes of trumpet. And, most importantly, the weary background vocals of Emmylou Harris, who makes the first of three appearances. Harris lends the song her expert touch, providing a vibrant backdrop and interesting contrast to Oberst's warbly, youthful voice.
"Old Soul Song (for the New World Order)" is a melancholic, pedal-steel number for the headphones that swirls into a wall-of-sound whose cacophony reflects the song's lyrics: "We walked for forty blocks to the middle of the place we heard that everything would be. And there were barricades to keep us off the street. But the crowd kept pushing foward 'til they swallowed the police. They went wild...". As the song's confidence builds, the dueling drummers increase their intensity, the background vocals blend with the drone of the pedal steel and the trumpet sails over the whole mass. It's the record's first rocking moment, and it's a memorable one.
Oberst promptly brings the lights down for the follow-up, "Lua," choosing to provide us with only his acoustic guitar and voice. The decision fits the introspective, travelling-light ballad to a T. "Train Under Water" is another mid-tempo ballad, this time in the model of Gram Parsons and the Byrds. It brings us to Wide Awake's center; with only five songs remaining, we've been treated to a mellow affair thus far.
"First Day of My Life," which would have been a great selection for the mix I did for Mary and her newborn son, keeps the mood relaxed. It's actually about the sense of rebirth we can feel when falling in love. And as I type this, I am aware that this sounds cheesy. And, I won't deny that it is. But if Journey is Velveeta, then this tune would have to be brie. It's a more eloquent sort of emo than, say, Dashboard Confessional. Ultimately, I could do without it, though.
But "Another Travelin' Song," I could do with more of. The album's first rocker from the get-go, it's a straightforward Johnny Cash country-rocker blessed by more pedal steel, vibrating organ, again a pair of drummers and Emmylou's sweet backing vocals. But it's just a teaser to the magnificent, Dylan-esque "Landlocked Blues," which features Emmylou in a duet that reminds me—in such a good way—of an update on the traditional ballad Emmylou would do with Gram (or for a more modern reference, see the fabulous Chitlin' Fooks). Oberst hits a handful of lyrical home runs on this one, including this dandy: "A good woman will pick you apart. A box full of suggestions for your possible heart. And you may be offended and you may be afraid, but don't walk away, don't walk away." But, ultimately, that's just what he does. This sense of the wandering stranger addled by drugs seems critical to Oberst's definition of himself at the current juncture. He seems wiser, but unable to fully realize, afraid to commit, and uneasy with the thought of growing old.
"Poison Oak" strikes me as more of dusty, stark, Springsteen ballad. Again, it grapples with a feeling of restlessness that inspires confusion masquerading as spite, the fuel that drives this young soul. "Road to Joy" brings the album to a close. Moreso than any other song on the album, this particular one paints Oberst as the vocal minority of his country's bewildered youth: "So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing, it's best to join the side that's going to win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're going to make them goddamn certain how it's going to end." While it's not quite his own "Masters of War," Oberst gets an A for effort. He ends the song by hitting the nail squarely on the head: "Failure's always sounded better, so let's fuck it up boys. Make some noise!"
By all accounts that I've read, Wide Awake is superior to Digital Ash in terms of songwriting and execution. I suspect Digital Ash will receive more kudos from the youth brigade, however, as its been Postal Serviced in comparison to this album. But, I do think that this album will be of more interest to the aged sect, which is probably what Oberst had in mind when he recruited Emmylou and Jim James and set out to record a country record. I can see this album appealing to fans of Okkervil River, in particular, which is a poor reference point as there are far fewer fans of OR than BE, and OR basically took BE's schtick and ran with it. So, maybe I should say "Recommended if you like Ryan Adams, but with more 'tude and lewd." Nah, that doesn't quite nail it either. Well, I'm not going to say that Bright Eyes is the second coming of Dylan. That's laughable. So, let's just say he's on to something good here. If you felt like you couldn't quite get into Lifted—maybe you were turned off by his bratty attitude or his lack of clarity—or you simply steered clear of Bright Eyes until now, then it's likely that you'll be surprised by this record. Conor Oberst definitely snuck up on me.
N/P—The Carter Family, "Single Girl, Married Girl"