In the fine tradition
of great bad singers,
here is Conor Oberst,
otherwise known as
the band leader of
Bright Eyes.
His singing is imprecise,
full of vibrato, a tentative
tenor, except for when
he’s screaming, which he
does sometimes, even in
quiet songs. He often sounds
like he’s on the verge of
crying or throwing a
temper tantrum.
Like others
in this great bad singer
tradition, in order to reach
greatness, there must be
other exceptional qualities
to make up for the lack
of skillful singing.
A unique but appealing
sound, maybe even it’s
weirdness, can do the trick,
and Conor has that going
on in spades. Strong lyrics
can help–a great writer
can sometimes compensate
for a less than lovely singing
voice, a writer with a vision,
or a strong, individual stamp
of style, something to say.
Even production
choices, arty, experimental,
can ad some spice:
Oberst has an affinity for working
low-fidelity field recordings
into the track list of his records,
lending a kind of cinema-verité
to the proceedings, adding an
eccentricity to the oddball palette.
Some of my favorite
singers are not great singers
(Byrne, Waits, Ridgeway, Vega),
so I am pretty forgiving
of a singer with minimal skill
in the presence of these
other indicators of greatness.
Conor Oberst displays them.
I listened to Bright Eyes
the first time on the recommendation
from a student teacher of mine,
when Oberst,
in a bold move, released two
albums simultaneously in 2005,
I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning and
Digital Ash in a Digital Urn.
I got both of these on CD.
I was struck immediately
by the voice, of course, his
literary, brainy lyrics, his volatile
delivery, and by the fact that these two
records, while clearly by the same
artist, were radically different
from one another, the first,
a folk rock album with traditional
folk rock instrumentations
and more than a tinge of country,
the second, a kind of synth
heavy, electronic pop record.
Strong songs, maybe great songs,
on both records all the way through.
Years later, shortly after I started
collecting vinyl again, Saddle
Creek Records releases a box
set of the first six Bright Eyes
albums over 10 colored vinyl records.
I liked those two CDs
enough to take a chance on
the entire catalog. I thought it’d
be a good gamble.
The catalog entire, at that point,
up to 2011, proves to be more consistent
in style and production than the
radical shift between those first two
albums I acquired on CD. And the earliest
two records are kind of like artsy,
experimental folk records, with
keyboards and strings in places
adding a kind of pop sophistication,
or a progressive leaning,
but his song writing is clearly in early
stages, although it gets better quickly
and there are great moments on
both albums. Today, I might be listening
to Fevers and Mirrors and
Lifted, or The Story Is in the Soil,
Keep Your Ear to the Ground
for maybe only the third or fourth time
since I bought this box nine years ago,
an indicator of how luke warm I was
about the early stuff. But the jury
is in, there are rewards here enough
to keep these records around for revisiting.
I still love those 2005 albums,
both of them in equal measure.
He’s in his twenties when he makes
these records, gets the likes of
Emmylou Harris to sing harmonies.
And Conor’s singing, volatile still,
but more precise, more melodic.
He must have been an old soul
to make such odd, mature music
and attract such music royalty
at such a young age, in a long line
of old soul songwriters, Dylan,
Springsteen, Beck, currently Winter.
As seldomly as I have listened
to Bright Eyes over the last several years,
I hold on to the entire collection
from 2000 to 2011, and then
an album from 2020.
Something about
this guy and this band (I think we can
call it that) kept me coming back for more
until finally I lost some of the love
for no particular reason. Perhaps,
Conor had his hands in too many
different projects; I couldn’t keep up,
and he wasn’t, in my estimation, doing
anything that rivaled the departure
of Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, I think
my favorite Bright Eyes record,
the one, ironically, most unlike
Bright Eyes. But on second thought,
I’m missing only one or two,
albums that bookend what’s shaping
up to be nearly a 30 year career,
so it’s not like I have totally abandoned
the ship. I still love him, but moderately.
I’m attempting to listen to all
seven of these albums in one day.
After number four, several hours into
the endeavor; it’s early evening
and I’m wide awake. I need a drink.
So, with a jigger of tequila, I put
on Cassadaga. A big sounding record,
replete with string arrangements,
lovely female background vocals,
super tuneful songwriting, and
Oberst’s penchant for weirdness
while holding on to those folk
and country roots, completely intact.
Two more records remain, The
People’s Key, and The Weeds Where
The World Once Was, and I’m saving
them for tomorrow. Five albums
in one day by the same artist is close
to my limit. I may have done it with
Bowie, and while Bright Eyes is no Bowie,
I’m ending my listening day thinking
that he is worthy of seven album’s
worth of my attention, but not in one
day. Not in a single day.
Notes on the vinyl editions: Bright Eyes: The Studio Albums, 2000-2011, Saddle Creek Records, 2016, six albums in 10 LP set, various colored vinyl. Titles of the individual records: Fevers and Mirrors, Lifted: or The Story Is in the Soil Keep Your Ear to the Ground, I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning, Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, Cassadaga, and The People’s Key. Finally, one more record not part of the box, the next album Bright Eyes released chronologically, Down In The Weeds Where The World Once Was, Dead Oceans Records, 2020, double vinyl on red and orange vinyl, respectively.
If you’re just now tuning in, I am attempting to listen to every record in my collection in alphabetical order by artist’s name, and afterward writing a poem-like-thing in response to the experience. In most cases (so far, in all cases but one), I’m writing one poem-like-thing for each artist, no matter how many records of theirs I have listened to from the collection.
michael jarmer 