I find myself at the front end of
a four day weekend and it feels good. I’ve already wasted the first half my day,
sleeping in and waking up groggy and unfocused, but I’m determined not to waste
the second. I’ve got the writing bug and I’m going to do something about it, starting
right here with this review.
I know this is another five star
review – the fifth one in the last 14 albums. I tried to mark it down, I really
did, but I just couldn’t help myself. So you’ll just have to forgive me if I once
again wax a little poetic – the album was going to anyway.
Disc 1071 is…Ruminations
Artist: Conor
Oberst
Year of Release: 2016
What’s up with the Cover? A man, his piano, and his
harmonica. That pretty much sums up this album.
How I Came To Know It: I read a review of it somewhere
and it sounded interesting. When I listened to it, I really liked what I heard
so I did what I do in those circumstances – I bought it.
How It Stacks Up: I only have two Conor Oberst albums; this one
and 2014’s “Upside Down Mountain” (reviewed back at Disc 961). I like them
both a whole lot, but I’m going to give the edge to “Upside Down Mountain”.
Ratings: 5 stars
When is
lo-fi too lo-fi for its own good? On “Ruminations” Conor Oberst puts that
question to the test and then some, combining production so sparse it almost
sounds like a series of outtakes and demos with songwriting that is so sublime
you forgive him for all the hollowness.
It helps
when the song lyrics are wrapped in a thoughtful hollowness themselves. “Ruminations”
is an apt name for this record, as Conor Oberst digs deep into himself. He
leaves you with the impression of a man tortured by his own relentless need to examine
the world in all its dreadful glory, while occasionally retreating into booze
or women. Even these retreats are strategic, feeding new perspectives back into
his work.
Sometimes
the lessons are from Oberst’s perspective, and sometimes he shifts to view the
world through characters as self-examined and troubled as he is. Sometimes the
line gets so blurred between Oberst and his creations you’re not sure where one
ends and the other begins.
Musically
all you’re going to get on this record is Oberst’s frail, evocative vocals and
either a lone guitar or piano played competently, if a bit rough around the
edges. Occasionally he throws in a bit of harmonica, which comes at you like the
swell of a full orchestra set against the thin emptiness of the production. “Two instruments!” your ears rejoice,
before settling back into the quiet again.
That
quiet lets you focus on Oberst’s calm, deliberate delivery. He is like Leonard
Cohen with his evocative and deeply personal language, and like Bob Dylan in
his keen phrasing and social observation. It is heady company to keep, but
Oberst manages it with humility and dignity.
“Ruminations”
goes to many a dark place, exploring anxiety, depression, alcoholism and
suicide with an unflinching directness. On “Tachycardia”
a waitress despairs:
“On a slow day the rain against
the windowpane
Of the café she spills the coffee
grounds
And the same thought hits her
like a cinderblock
Life is an odd job that she don’t
got the nerve to quit.”
And on “Barbary Coast” Oberst gives insight into
the glare of the world, as seen through the eyes of the artist:
“Tried to lose myself in the
primitive
In Yosemite, like John Muir did
But his eyes were blue and mine
are red and raw.
“Cause the modern world is a
sight to see
It’s a stimulant, it’s
pornography
It takes all my will not to turn
it off.”
And the loss
of a loved one on “Next of Kin”:
“Her bathrobe hangs on the
bedroom door
Though she’s been dead for a year
or more
He buried her by the sycamore
So that he could keep her close.
It broke his heart, and it made
him old
Tries to rebuild but it just
erodes
Some people say that’s the way it
goes
But he don’t feel that way.”
Yeah, it
is grim stuff and the lack of any distraction from the basic melody and the heartfelt
delivery makes it even harder to hear. But it also opens your soul, lifting
your spirit even as it confronts you with the world and all its awful weight.
Oberst
sounds genuinely tortured throughout the record, as he sings about the loss of both innocence and the idols that could help steer you through
it. The reference to Christopher Hitchens chokes me up every time I hear it. I
miss Hitchens as well.
My one frustration
with this record isn’t about the record at all. It’s Oberst’s annoying decision
to release full band versions of all the same songs six months later on “Salutations”.
I tried to avoid it, but the songs are so damned good now I’ve got to go buy that
record as well.
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