Conor Oberst

Conor OberstConor OberstOh, burst. The first time I heard of this Conor kid he and I were both 19 years old and covered with longish hair and still-healing acne scars. I was an idiot trolling around a store in Bloomington called All Ears and Conor was a kid who clearly knew someone at All Ears, as they were playing an advance copy of his first widely distributed Bright Eyes album, Fevers and Mirrors. I liked it, asked the clerk about it and found out that soon enough Conor and his crew of older touring mates would soon be playing an album release show at the very store I was standing in. I remember the clerk going on and on about how young this kid was, how smart his lyrics were, how cute his name was, how great his … you get it. I went to the release show, felt the quiver, bought the album and, again, read the kid’s name in the liner notes: oh, burst. I loved it. How could this guy, blessed with such a cutesy/awful name, not use it? His eyes didn’t look all that bright to me.

I stuck with the kid for years before spotting a photo of him in US Magazine, holding a bottle of wine and heading in to a cheap hotel with Winona Ryder. Can’t blame him, wine tastes pretty good. Truth is, I’ve always tried my best to dig in to Oberst’s many recordings, and at times I’ve even loved his songs. (Lifted and I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning have both even managed to surpass the brilliance of Fevers - especially Lifted.) So a few weeks ago, with my best shoes on and almost none of my 19-year-old hair left on my head, I went out and bought Conor Oberst, the first record the kid has ever widely released under his boyfriend/birth name.

Good cover. No, great cover. I studied the packaging on the ride home from the store, noting the overwhelmingly ethnic vibe - these things matter. Everything seemed great, even some of the lyrics; my hopes were high. But wait, produced by Conor Oberst? Really? Known for always working with long time BFF, producer/musician Mike Mogis, the kid must be having a quarter life crisis or something - out to prove himself maybe? Not that Mogis has any clear trademark sound, but hey, this kid has had Mogis babysitting his sessions for at least a decade. No bother, the album - recorded in Mexico for no reason that seems to actually matter - sounds like a Bright Eyes album, which is not a bad thing. (Who knows, the moniker change could’ve signaled a drastic change - the kid could be making trip-hop records, whatever those are.) There’s been chatter around the block, too, that the writing here is more mature, and I’ll agree. It’s exactly one percent more mature than last year’s sub-par Bright Eyes album, Cassadaga. Way to step it up for your (most likely one-off) new label, Merge Records; the Spoon abides. Really, though, Oberst seems a bit less concerned with himself throughout Conor Oberst, which is a welcomed change. His voice still sounds like that of a budding 14-year-old, but that’s part of the charm.

Back to that all-important ride home from the record store. I put the disc in and instantly started thinking about all the things I could write about the sound spitting from my car speakers. My immediate reaction was that, hey, this kid is done. He peaked early and can’t find even an ounce of the youthful creative energy he had when he recorded Lifted, one of the best albums of the decade. A week or so later, after a handful of less-smarmy listens, I realized that maybe the kid has grown up a bit. The sensationalism and borderline-gimmicky tricks - once hallmarks of his output - have disappeared, in their place we have some pretty straightforward indie-meets-Americana music. My sudden change of attitude made all the difference in the world while listening to Conor Oberst. No more “kid“ talk for Conor. Back when I was 19 I knew that Conor was smarter than I was; listening to Conor Oberst at age 28, I think this kid - no, this Oh, Burst - might be someone to watch again. He seems to have his restless, subtle - and sometimes not-so-subtle (i.e. Digital Ash In a Digital Urn) - genre benders out of his system, here settling on making a pure singer/songwriter album, decorated by a place (Mexico), a man, his friends and not much more.

Good songs followed. Country rocker “Danny Callahan,” for example, is a great, great story song about - get this - someone else’s feelings, definitely a new approach for Oberst. I’m not going to go into too many details about the songs, but if you liked I’m Wide Awake It‘s Morning then you’ll like Conor Oberst. Imagine a more souped-up band version of that record. Okay, maybe a little bit less accessible at first blush, but give these 10 songs (plus two mini songs) a few listens before you make up your mind. It’s a nice return from an artist who piddled away his time in the spotlight with mostly-mediocre style shifts and novel ideas. Conor Oberst isn’t going to bring back the doe-eyed hype, but it just might bring back some of the fans Cassadaga sent scattering up to My Morning Jacket Mountain.   7/10

Written by G. William Locke