Noise Floor - Bright Eyes

Noise Floor

Bright Eyes
Saddle Creek Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

After the duel release of I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning and Digital Ash in a Digital Urn placed Oberst’s Dylan-hype on overdrive, a retrospective was definitely in order… if not to provide Conor additional time to finish his much-anticipated Cassadaga but to put the past where it belongs. All his annexed ghosts and love-letters are gathered on Noise Floor; a mixed bag of forgotten songs that create a virtual connect-the-album with long-time fans.

After a customary collage of field-recordings opens the disc, we are reminded again of Oberst’s bipolar tendencies with the glitchy ‘I Will Be Grateful For This Day’ and country-hued ‘Trees Get Wheeled Away’. Both tracks are excellent and easily imagined on their respective electronic or country 2005 full-lengths but what’s best is that neither were readily downloadable in the past, making this far more credible than the average stop-gap release. Even the familiar b-sides that have been popular steals throughout the years are polished up and carefully chosen. ‘Drunk Kid Catholic’ and ‘Blue Angels Air Show’ boasts Oberst’s punk-love while a cover of Daniel Johnston and collaboration with the Album Leaf lend some unpredictability to the proceedings. The heart of this LP is still composed of our favourite Bright Eyes b-sides; those hidden gems we liked believing no one else knew about. ‘Amy in the White Coat’ and ‘Happy Birthday To Me (Feb. 15)’ are incredibly personal, murky remainders of Bright Eyes’ lo-fi period and I know I’m not the only fan who’s happy to see they finally have a home.

Beyond my completist tendencies, I’m smitten with Noise Floor because it managed to introduce me to a few songs that are now among my favourites. The newly recorded version of ‘Soon You Will Be Leaving Your Man’ from the Motion Sickness 7-inch takes its bittersweet time while ‘Weather Reports’ captures Oberst at his understated best: the humble guitarist, the lo-fi noise connoisseur, the drunken lyricist. Of course it’s still a compilation and as such, you’ll enjoy keeping your remote close by (‘The Vanishing Act’ is a rare misstep).

Writing this in hindsight of Cassadaga’s release, Oberst planned this well, not only capturing the best tracks from a prolific period but creating an exposition to his admittedly huge first chapter. Noise Floor is a last celebration of Oberst’s predominantly emo period that projects a clear lineage from teenage impulsiveness toward his talents as one of Americana’s premier singer-songwriters.

Conor Oberst - Conor Oberst

Conor Oberst

Conor Oberst
Merge Records.

SCQ Rating: 75%

So the mastermind of Bright Eyes and co-founder of Saddle Creek records ditches the moniker and abandons his label for a self-titled solo album on a prominent indie imprint. Even though Bright Eyes, which was declared an actual band with a concrete line-up in 2007, was by and large acknowledged as Oberst’s dictatorship, and even though Saddle Creek would’ve been an ideal fit for this collection of roots-rock. Hell, had Bright Eyes never existed, the idea of Conor Oberst releasing a solo record in 2008 would still be outlandish, given that his first two solo LPs were released on cassette way back in the early 90s. So why now? It’s anyone’s guess; mine being that after the polished, orchestrated pop of Cassadagga, Oberst took a step back to deliberate his future. Moreover I’d wager his own guesswork opted against baring the Bright Eyes name to a ramshackle follow-up like this self-titled release. A wise move, not because Conor Oberst suffers from mediocre ideas or travels unflattering directions, but because this album proves that Oberst, as a songwriter, is versatile enough to exist beyond Bright Eyes’ fame.

A few spins of Conor Oberst subtly makes clear the strategy here: these aren’t Bright Eyes tunes, restless nor careful. Here, Oberst’s home is the road, humid and weathered, where much of this material rustles like weary drifters roaming Americana on petrol vapours. ‘Sausalito’ sets the stage, a two-note Johnny Cash bassline that’s as languid as Oberst’s end-verse backing vocals, that tells his tale of highway loves and overdue debts. It’s a difficult tempo to maintain, I’d imagine, when revving it up or slowing down would’ve made the song far less transient. But that’s the point here; as Oberst himself might say, it’s another travellin’ song, and the pace becomes perfect for easy Autumn drives. ‘NYC – Gone, Gone’ features a brief return of the DIY ethic that made songs like ‘Drunk Catholic’ so urgent while ‘Moab’ hitches a ride with Pavement-style chords to provide Oberst’s thesis, stating “there’s nothing that the road cannot heal”.

This recording feels increasingly marginalized from the Bright Eyes canon thanks to its variety, jumping from the garage-band shouts of ‘Souled Out!!’ to the humble folk of ‘Milk Thistle’. Most objectionable is ‘I Don’t Wanna Die (In the Hospital)’, a hokey, full-band interlude that is innocent enough but a giant spike in an otherwise calm sequencing. The willingness to defile potential graces of ones album for the sake of spontaneity is a hard-earned trick, and a checkmate that makes Conor Oberst surprisingly hard to pin down. The only time its disjointed scope is troubling is when you’ve just heard an album highlight (like the romantic ‘Lenders in the Temple’ or best-song-ever ‘Cape Canaveral’), something reminiscent of a Bright Eyes’ classic moment, which is then interrupted by a careless, bar-stomp. Oberst seems intent on dismantling any notion of a masterpiece, in the process marking a transitional gem in his catalog.

So his new approach – dropping band and label of yore – might well be Conor’s way of lowering expectations, and while this is too scattershot to be greater than the past several Bright Eyes albums, it warrants praise that hasn’t prejudged it as inferior. If Conor Oberst is to be the second coming of a songwriter who, at 28 years young, has already lived out a full career, this is a promising first taste.

Cassadaga - Bright Eyes

Cassadaga

Bright Eyes
Saddle Creek Records.

SCQ Rating: 78%

“When putting together this collection we were first worried we wouldn’t have a cumbersome enough intro to begin the record (a tradition we started to ward off casual listeners).” – Conor Oberst, as written in the liner notes to the Noise Floor compilation.

After the breakthrough that was Lifted, the Dylan comparisons, the celebrated double release which saw I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning and Digital Ash in a Digital Urn celebrated in separate and similar circles, plus extensive tours that proved Mr. Oberst the mature songwriter many of us watched grow from his teenage years, the hype for Cassadaga was far-reaching. In no small part Noise Floor aided in keeping the Bright Eyes buildup teeming, but although many viewed it as a decent stop-gap/cash-in release, the compilation appears to have been the epitaph for Oberst’s first chapter.

As the above quote boasts, Oberst puts his money where his mouth is on Cassadaga opener ‘Clairaudients (Kill or Be Killed)’; a good song inflated by wayward strings and a recorded psychic (Cassadaga is a town in Florida renowned for its heavy psychic presence). However Oberst’s comment applied fittingly for his earlier releases, which divided audiences with his lo-fi recordings and raw, unruly voice; here, though, ‘Clairaudients’ is the red-herring in a record otherwise perfect for those ‘casual listeners’ Oberst once detracted.

In one regard, the stream-lined production of Cassadaga feels like a logical progression in the same way the two previous Bright Eyes albums felt considerably more polished than his earlier work. Yet these songs are slick in a way that nearly feels contradictory to the intimacy that Bright Eyes once demanded, as most are fortified by organ, full-band, or full-orchestra. Luckily, more often that not, these bolder (and in many ways, more traditional) arrangements work; ‘Hot Knives’ is a song written to be performed with 9+ people and it’s so strong because Oberst took the time to get it right. Conversely, ‘Lime Tree’ is musically all-Oberst, and unlike much of the lyrical content’s strong political slants, deals with another personal issue for fans to gossip over (“Does that line mean she had an abortion?!?”, etc.). Featuring a string section which compliments his lonely guitar much like Nick Drake’s ‘River Man’, ‘Lime Tree’ is the closest we get to old-school Bright Eyes, and it’s a stunning close to the album.

If Oberst looks capable of losing direction at all, it’s on ‘Soul Singer in a Session Band’. Never mind that the vocal melody feels too familiar to be original, it’s traditional to the point of being regressive; where other songs here can feel a tad conservative, ‘Soul Singer…’ is worrisome, as if trying to unravel the quirks and talents that make Bright Eyes unique.

The critics who wrote that this album is biting a commercial bullet are missing a crucial point: Cassadaga doesn’t only take us out of our Bright Eyes comfort zone, it takes Conor Oberst out as well. And while it lacks the pretension and intensity that we grew to love Bright Eyes for, he’s not playing solely for us. As an artist, Oberst is one of the last people I’d expect to continue writing the same woe-is-me confessionals that brought him to public consciousness; he’s in this business for longevity and the fact that he’s had a record contract since he was thirteen should’ve clued everyone in. This is another fine release worthy of admiration and repeated listens.