I’ve been a Bright Eyes fan for many years, something I’ve fiercely defended as the fanbase quickly became younger and younger and Conor Oberst was lumped into the teeny-bopper nu-emo category pretty much overnight. The poor production values, rambling storytelling and screeching yelps of early albums were all so endearing, and I selfishly hated the fact that they were being shuffled through the ipods of the SAT prep-course set. Hopefully Conor Oberst’s new solo release can change all that.

Why Conor had to do a solo project when he was the only real member of Bright Eyes to begin with seems perplexing at first. Maybe his last album was such a departure from the sound he was known for that he decided to just funnel the folk/bluegrass/Americana experimentation to another record label.  He’s slowly been injecting some country flavor into his albums for years (even packaging I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning, his first completely country-influenced album, with an electrified sister release, possibly as a buffer for any potential backlash) until it all culminated into Cassadega. Cassadega was an incredible album, but it never felt like a Bright Eyes release as it was full-on Americana.  To make matters worse, after its initial critical acclaim, it seemed like no one was really listening to it other than me.

I’m sure Conor noticed, and it seems like he ran away from the project he had been desperately trying to re-invent. Poor Conor wanted to “find himself,” and all anyone wanted was the same sort of material he was recording at 19. As a stereotypical mid-twenties semi-nomad, his decision to start afresh and make a new album in a new place exactly the way he wanted to was somewhat personally reassuring. After Conor’s flight from Omaha/New York/California, he ended up in Mexico where he diverted from the ever-increasing production quality of previous releases and got back to his “we recorded this in a bathtub” roots. It’s refreshing, and my GOD, it’s good.

This album seems to be the purest refinement yet in something that Conor has been working toward for more than a decade. The instrumentaiton is a finely-honed amalgamation of so many styles he’s dabbled in before and the vocal style is surprisingly similar to the raw youthfulness early records. It almost seems like he’s finally doing something new and fresh again and that excited energy is palpable in his voice. Sentimental, personal and sincere, the album is less about high school angst and cheesy vegan politics and more about simple, hometown storytelling and heartfelt honesty. This self-titled release is pretty much indie’s answer to Bruce Springsteen. The pretentious self-deprecation and overblown sorrow have been replaced with all-American working class joys and struggles. It’s not a far cry from Cassadega, but it diverts from the polish of that album that always seemed somewhat incongruous with the subject matter. The polygamist marriage of folk, indie, 70’s rock and American balladry has never made more sense.

Conor’s learned a few tricks along the way, as well. The confluence of influences in brilliant, and there are plenty of hooks. On ‘NYC- Gone, Gone,’ for example, Conor perfectly exploits the infectious properties of the stompable drumbeat. After all, it got radio play for Gwen Stefani when that whole ‘Hollaback Girl’ thing happened, so there’s no reason why a good song shouldn’t deploy the technique for maximum catchiness. ‘Eagle on a Pole’ builds with heartbreaking energy, and his quavering delivery is enough to put a lump in your throat without even needing to listen to the content of the lyrics. ‘I Don’t Want To Die (In a Hospital)’ is bursting with delicious, fun energy and manages to make a sad subject sort of amusing to the tune of old-timey pianos. Of course, Conor couldn’t help himself and threw in ‘Valle Mistico (Ruben’s Song)’ which is a trumpet sounding like an airhorn for one long, seeingly never-ending note, but thankfully it’s its own track that can be quickly skipped, rather than the annoying lead-in to something better.  Did I mention that the longest track is only 5:21?  It’s a great feat for someone who’s been known to indulge in the aforementioned annoying, frequently lengthy intros/outros that cause some otherwise great songs to be passed over.

This is the Conor I fell in love with so long ago. The passion and emotion are back, the references are great, the imagery is vivid and gloriously bittersweet, and the songs all work together to feel like the travel diary of a lonely transplant in an unfamiliar world. The Conor who started to lose himself in his growing fame finally became disillusioned with the idea, and rather than burning out by rehashing old material, he thankfully started fresh and made something totally new and beautiful. This is definitely an adult record, and I’m so happy that Conor didn’t let me outgrown him.