Most music fans remember Bob Dylan as a folk singer who crafted some of the greatest protest songs of all time during the volatile 1960s. But Dylan didn’t just devote his musical career to penning metaphor-heavy political songs. He also created a plethora of tunes touching on emotions, ranging from happiness to heartbreak. One listen to Dylan’s seminal 1975 album Blood on the Tracks single-handedly wipes out any argument that he was one dimensional.
Critics frequently compare Bright Eyes (aka Conor Oberst and a handful of people playing instruments) to Dylan. The comparison seems fair enough – Oberst creates folkish songs both political and emotional, earning him dual “protest singer” and “emo cry-baby” status. Bright Eyes seems a fair enough contender for the Dylan-crown, as Oberst has created an immense discography of heartbroken melodies and socially-aware tracks over his recording career.
But Bright Eyes’ seventh and latest full-length, Cassadaga, sees Oberst shifting away from his balanced song-writing strategy to focus more on the political state of the world-at-large. Cassadaga brims with songs exploring religion and war, most of the time overwrought with heavy-handed lines and forced metaphors. Bright Eyes’s newest sees the group drifting away from the emotional songs that served as the band’s calling card over the years toward more contrived political folk, a move that makes Cassadaga Oberst’s most confused work.
Opener “Clairaudients (Kill or be Killed)” sets Cassadaga’s tone. Filled with the sampled speech of a woman talking about Cassadaga, Fla., a community of mediums and followers of spiritualism, the song acquaints the listener with Oberst’s new lyrical target – religion. “Future markets, holy wars/been tried ten thousand times before” Oberst sings before adding the forced “If you think that God is keeping score, hooray!” “Clairaudients” is the LP’s weakest track, and showcases the band’s latest direction at its lamest.
Most of the album touches on further religious themes and current events. The first single “Four Winds” tackles worship directly, backing Oberst’s religious rants with a Nashville guitar. The lyrics are lacking, however. “The Bible’s blind, the Torah’s deaf, the Quran’s mute/if you burn them all together you get close to the truth” doesn’t offer any exciting insight into organized faith, just pure rage. Elsewhere, “No One Would Riot for Less” doesn’t roar as loudly as other tracks, but it takes too long to develop and never says anything of interest.
Cassadaga’s greatest tracks come early with the furious anger of “Hot Knives” and the reserved beauty of “Make a Plan to Love Me.” The former moves forward with fuzzy guitars and piano, while Oberst sings about love and religion (one of the few times on the album he melds the two subjects together with great results). The song also includes some of the album’s best lyrics, including the slightly bitter gem “Oh, I’ve made love, yeah, I’ve been fucked, so what?/I’m a cartoon, you’re a full moon, let’s stay up.” Meanwhile, “Make a Plan to Love Me” utilizes a very simple string arrangement to create a gorgeous, almost 1940’s-ish sounding song. Backed by these pretty sounds, Oberst pleads to could-be-lover to give him a chance. The song looms as Cassadaga’s prettiest piece, and the album’s best.
Cassadaga’s greatest grievances involve great sounding songs being bogged down by poor words. “Soul Singer in a Session Band” sounds eerily familiar to (although better than)to Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” but never gets to shine due to dumb lyrics centering on obsession with celebrities. Worst of all is “Coat Check Dream Song,” which sports a super-intriguing Middle Eastern sound. It’s easily the album’s best sounding moment. Unfortunately, Oberst’s lyrics in the song range from global warming to the Iraq War, distracting listeners from the great sound. Plus a sample of Arabic singing at the end is so unnecessary and tacked on it almost derails the whole tune. Almost.
Bright Eyes has always been lumped in with the depressed emo crowd, but maybe that was preferable because Conor Oberst and Co. work best when they step away from politics and focus on the personal. The emotional ditties on Cassadaga include some of Oberst’s best, a reminder of how brilliant he can be when he sings about inner pain. “If the Brakeman Turns My Way” basks in honky-tonk beauty with equal amounts of country-level sadness. Similarly, “Cleanse Song” features the album’s most oddball beat, but it works perfectly alongside Oberst’s voice.
Protest songs are a necessary force in the music world, tunes that comment on the world as it is. But Conor Oberst’s shines brightest when he merges political commentary with personal agony, as he did excellently on his 2004 stroke-of-genius I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning. Cassadaga splinters Bright Eye’s lyrical attention between the two, with mixed results. Oberst has the talent and wisdom to be a legendary singer-songwriter, but right now he’s trying to fill boots he’s not old enough for yet. He needs to stick with what he does best – being a downtrodden 20-something who explores the world around him via the pain he feels. Then maybe the Dylan comparisons will be valid. Until then, Oberst is an overreaching artist whose ideas are stuck blowing in the wind.