Conor Oberst is chasing a new muse—loose and vibey jam-session
rock ‘n’ roll—and while he and his Mystic Valley Band find some
success along the way, Outer South mostly plays against his
strengths.
Released a short nine months after his last album, Outer
South is unfocused and bloated; while a more concise effort would
be able to hide a weak spot or two, the wastelands that spread across
this 70-minute album are too much to ignore.
Oberst passes the microphone to his Mystic Valley cohorts on seven
of Outer South‘s 16 songs, but he so powerfully outshines his
bandmates that the other contributions only drag the album down. A
better route would’ve been to strip out those seven songs for release
as a bonus EP. While not entirely throwaways, the tracks are
disruptive, bland and forgettable.
The album starts strongly, with “Slowly (Oh So Slowly),” a bright
and organ-heavy rocker, and “To All the Lights in the Windows,” a
Springsteen-influenced tune that’s a fresh direction for Oberst. But
it’s clear that Oberst is best in his country-folk troubadour mode, and
his songwriting becomes weaker the further he gets from the slow and
stripped-down realm.
The contrast is clear: “Roosevelt Room,” which declares itself a
“tear gas riot song,” is dreadful, overloaded with cultural and
political references; it’s an absolute failure as a fist-pumper.
However, on “Ten Women” and “White Shoes,” the songs most like his work
with Bright Eyes, Oberst retains the impact and drama of his best
songwriting.
This article appears in Jun 11-17, 2009.
