Conor Oberst Albums (2)
What The Critics Say
Conor Oberst's Mystic Valley Band initially seemed a bit like a busman's holiday, a way for him to throw off whatever expectations he had as Bright Eyes, a way to get a bit loose and rowdy. The Mystic Valley Band is turning into something more -- not quite a full-fledged multi-headed beast the way the Byrds were at their peak, but not Dylan pushing through the Rolling Thunder Revue as its undisputed leader, either. The Mystic River Band turns out to be a bit of an oddity: a group with a clear-cut leader that manages to seem egalitarian, particularly here on Outer South where Oberst recedes from the spotlight on a whopping six of the 16 tracks, letting his bandmates sing their own songs. This behavior is atypical for singer/songwriters, but it fits the spirit of Outer South, an album written, recorded and about the road -- a roadworn cliché that always gets reinvigorated whenever its executed with gusto, as it is here, partially due to Oberst spreading the wealth. Having three other singers here makes Outer South a bit messy, but it speaks to what makes the album work: it's about playing, not the song. Which isn't to say that there aren't good songs here, as there are -- the ratio is as strong as they were on Conor Oberst, testament to Oberst's steady work ethic paying back craftsman dividends -- but what impresses is the spirit and the sound, how the band sounds like it's consistently on the move, not quite caring whether they're taking the direct route, as long as it's scenic. Oberst himself seems swept up in the motion -- he's dropped his vocal affectations, his grandiose couplets, he's happy to be leading a group that feels like a band of brothers -- one that might not always sing in the same voice, but share a sensibility, something that gives Outer South a big human heart. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Abandoning the Bright Eyes moniker he's been performing under since his teens, Conor Oberst reverted to his birth name for his 2008 follow-up to 2007's Cassadaga. As he not only released the record under his own name but titled it Conor Oberst, it's hard not to think of the album as a new beginning or statement of purpose, as that's generally the case when a singer/songwriter splits from his main band, but this is such a low-key record it can't support such grand theories. But that subdued attitude is in fact a major difference between this and Bright Eyes albums, where every action tended to be over-amplified, a practice Oberst generally avoids here. Part of it is down to mere circumstance. Struck with one of his bursts of wanderlust, Oberst headed down to Mexico to cut the album, gathering together a collection of friends who he dubbed the Mystic Valley Band, a name bearing an uncanny resemblance to such '70s country-rock outfits as Rick Nelson's Stone Canyon Band. Naturally, this is a conscious move, as much of this tight 12-track album resides firmly within the confines of classic country-rock, whether it's a mellow ramble like "Danny Callahan" or the dust-kicking "I Don't Want to Die (In the Hospital)." These benefit greatly by the loose-limbed Mystic Valley Band, who infuse a great deal of warmth to this music, but their open-heartedness is a reflection of Oberst's subtle shift to relying on modest gestures instead of grand ones. Although he still has a tendency to shoehorn five-dollar words into every other phrase -- particularly when it comes time to write ballads -- he's not trying quite so hard here, letting his lyrics be almost as relaxed as his music. But the fact that the music does feel relaxed, even when it bears his classicist affectations, does make Conor Oberst markedly different than the music of Bright Eyes, and makes it a worthwhile project -- even if it proves to be a detour instead of a new beginning. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
