Album Review

What is it these days with songwriting geniuses and their sudden need to delegate? Last year, Rivers Cuomo allowed other members of Weezer writing credits on their most-recent self-titled effort. Now, it’s Conor Oberst’s turn. The Artist Formerly Known as Bright Eyes, known for his brilliantly-tortured word-a-thons, nobly cedes some of the spotlight on his newest release, Outer South, to the band that began backing him on his eponymous album from last year.

Of course, the fact that Outer South is credited to Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band should be the first clue. And I suppose it’s a welcome sign of humility for Oberst; hell, even Dylan shared the lyric-writing on his latest.

The problem lies in the fact that, to make room for all of these new voices, Outer South is 16 songs long. And this ain’t no punk album; many songs run five, six, even seven minutes and more. And out of those 16 songs, there aren’t enough keepers to make the slog through the entirety of this project worthwhile.

The band members do a solid but unspectacular job on their songwriting efforts. Guitarist Nik Freitas puts his tunes across with a Roger McGuinn-type voice, which suits the prancing pop of “Bloodline.” Fellow axeman Taylor Hollingsworth contributes the New Wavey “Air Mattress” and the interestingly dark closer “Snake Hill,” which is probably the best of the non-Oberst songs. Drummer Jason Boesel’s two songs are decent but forgettable.

There’s nothing they contribute that would be considered anything but lightweight coming from Conor’s pen, but at least the differing genres in which they dabble provide a little variety. Oberst, on the other hand, has really fallen in love with a kind of rambling country rock that doesn’t always jibe with his wordy jaunts. At times, he seems to realize this and attempts to keep things simple. But that’s not really what you’re looking for from Oberst, now, is it?

As a result, it’s only the slow, less-adorned songs that come across like they would belong on a Bright Eyes record. “Ten Women” is an excellent ballad full of withering put downs that can’t quite mask the singer’s hurt. “White Shoes” is filled with the imagistic wordplay on which Oberst has made his name. At one point during that acoustic showcase, you can hear that inimitable voice, quavering with emotion, accompanied by only the sound of him tapping on his guitar.

That moment is far more affecting than any of the mid-tempo shuffles the band puts forth, on which they end up sounding like half-hearted Heartbreakers. They only come to life when backing their frontman on the incendiary, Republican-baiting “Roosevelt Room.” That’s the one time on which they sound like a full-fledged band rather than just a conveyance unit for Oberst’s songs.

Maybe Oberst needs to take a little breather; this is his fifth full-length in five years. Being prolific is fine, but only if the output is worthy of the artist. (Ask Ryan Adams about the pitfalls of too much product.) At his best, Oberst is still one of the finest songwriters around, capable of scorching a politician in one song and exquisitely dissecting his own romantic failures in the next. But that talent is too often buried here. I suppose it makes sense that Outer South would be bumpy considering the extent to which Oberst passes the baton. The surprising thing about the album is how often he himself fumbles it.

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