Album Review

For those looking for some sort of significance in the fact that Conor Oberst is not recording as Bright Eyes on his new release, you might be disappointed. The self-titled “solo” album, “Conor Oberst,” recorded on the fly with a quickly assembled band, doesn’t deviate very much from the Bright Eyes template of country rock mixed with a folky ballad or two.

And if you think that the relatively quick turnaround time for an Oberst project (”Cassadaga,” his last album with Bright Eyes, was released last year) implies a simpler approach, well, you’d be off-base there as well. Oberst still relies on vivid imagery (“I felt your poltergeist love like Savannah heat” is just one of many examples) and a pay-me-by-the word lyrical assault to get his point across.

So what should you expect from Conor Oberst? Well, typically top-notch songwriting and emotions laid-bare for the whole world to hear. This approach sometimes generates eye-rolls, but Oberst deserves credit for refusing to hide behind irony and for tackling the big subject matter that most others wouldn’t even attempt.

Take “Danny Callahan,” for instance. It ambles along as Oberst shrugs his shoulders at the general aimlessness of life: “Some wander the wilderness, some drink Cosmopolitans.” But in the final verse, Oberst throws a gut punch by bringing in the title character, a little boy dying of an incurable disease while his mother can only ask hopelessly, “Where are you going all alone?” The music refuses to give in to despair though, following Oberst’s hopeful tone from earlier in the song when he sings, “The love you feel you carry inside can be passed.”

When he can’t find answers to the questions he’s seeking, Oberst turns to the road. Travelogues like “Sausalito” and “Moab” owe a debt to Bob Dylan’s wandering epics. On the latter, Oberst sings, “There’s nothing that the road cannot heal,” and that just as well might be this album’s motto.

The ballads are a bit of a muddle. The lyrics are frustratingly vague and that’s magnified by the spare acoustic settings. “Lenders In The Temple” has some lovely wordplay but a confusing point of view, and album closer “Milk Thistle” meanders. “Cape Canaveral” is the best of these, starting the album off on a pretty note.

If there is one new element to the Oberst formula, it’s that he actually seems to be having some fun at times, and that’s a welcome change. “I Don’t Want To Die (In The Hospital)” is a raucously paranoid song with a title that pretty much sums it up, and “NYC-Gone, Gone” comes on like a deranged hoe-down for a minute and then stops as if that’s how long the band could possibly keep up that pace. And then there’s the gloriously shambolic “Souled Out,” in which Oberst seems to find cathartic release in the fact that heaven isn’t letting anybody in.

So maybe the big answers still elude Oberst. That’s probably a good thing for us as listeners, because it means we’ll continue to be treated to the profound results of his search.

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