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Decibel : Out of this world: Bright Eyes moves past folky feel to synthesized sound in new album

Artist: Bright Eyes

Album: ‘The People’s Key’

Record Label: Saddle Creek

Release Date: Feb. 15, 2011

Soundwaves: 4/5



Sounds Like: Bob Dylan in space

Conor Oberst, folk genre’s wunderkind, has been compared to Bob Dylan one too many times. Since founding Bright Eyes and releasing his critically acclaimed opus ‘I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning’ in 2005, Oberst’s naysayers have been quick to remind listeners that Bright Eyes is just a bad case of deja entendu: We’ve heard it all before. With Bright Eyes’ two follow-up albums, critics called out Oberst for pilfering his trademark rough-around-the-edges vocals, outspoken lyrics of social awareness and experimental instrumentation from the Dylan songbook.

With ‘The People’s Key,’ the Bright Eyes’ newest effort most likely to be its swan song, how was Oberst supposed to step out of the shadows of his freewheeling forefather? By taking his trustworthy folk sensibilities to a brand new level — literally. ‘The People’s Key’ only sonically resembles ‘Highway 61 Revisited’ if Dylan had written, recorded and produced the album from the moon. Oberst shifts gears from his usual tendencies to take a more avant-garde, science-fiction approach to his songwriting.

The album opens on an off-putting bizarre note with ‘Firewall,’ which starts with a two-minute narration with what sounds like an intellectual Forrest Gump discoursing on science fiction and reptilian aliens from outer space. But don’t touch that dial just yet: Oberst’s simple three-chord guitar sneaks into the track, and with some despondently rugged vocals and marching band-esque drum rhythms, Bright Eyes is back in business.

‘Shell Games,’ minus a synthesizer that sounds as out of place as a UFO in the Old West, is a toe-tapping ditty that illustrates Oberst’s penchant for juxtaposing despairing lyrics into optimistically upbeat melodies. ‘Jejune Stars’ drops the acoustic guitar and, thankfully, the synthesizer for progressive-rock guitar riffs. This leaves Oberst sounding like a second-rate Morrissey impersonator. The track is so inherently catchy, however, that Oberst shoves his bubblegum pop tune into our faces so that most listeners are too busy humming along to realize that Oberst has sacrificed his social-raconteur self to play it safe lyrically.

‘Approximate Sunlight’ plummets right from low-quality directly to no-quality production, and it is the musical equivalent of the kid who sprawls out nonchalantly in the back of your philosophy lecture, defiantly keeping both his book and eyes shut. Oberst’s stab at seamlessly segueing his post-punk mindset into his folk instrumentation falls flat on its face. ‘Haile Selassie’ redeems its lead-in track as a true Bright Eyes’ tour de force: witty lyricism fits hand in hand with energetic drum fills and Steely Dan-reminiscent guitar work.

The optimistic vibe rings true in ‘A Machine Spiritual (In the People’s Key),’ which takes its foot off the experimentation pedal. This track sticks to what Bright Eyes knows it’s good at doing, which is letting Oberst’s reverb-laden vocals soar over patchwork instrumentation.

Listeners will fear for the worst when experimentation rears its ugly head upon the entrance of ‘Triple Spiral.’ Instead of tearing the track apart, experimentation wipes its feet off at the welcome mat, carries a case of everyone’s favorite drinks, comes in, turns up the volume and invites everyone to sing along to a boozy ‘80s-style romp that seems tailor made for the air-guitar crowd.

After a rushed dose of adrenaline, the effort closes on a melancholy note. ‘Beginner’s Mind’ slows the tempo and recalls the protest songs from Dylan’s past. ‘Ladder Song’ is a dreary piano ballad that will leave no dry eyes in the venues at which it is played live, and ‘One For You, One For Me’ is a spacey track that leaves no instrument on the shelf for a rousing finish.

Despite overusing some forthrightly bizarre narration that could come straight out of a Ray Bradbury novel, ‘The People’s Key’ leaves the Bob Dylan parallels back on Earth and instead blasts listeners into 10 tracks of spacey folk triumph.

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