CD reviews

Brightblack Morning Light
Motion to Rejoin
(Matador)
8.9

Goes well with: Drugs. Also long, mellow, downstream, solo canoe trips armed with only an oar and an iPod—on drugs.

A close friend of mine recently sent me a picture-text of an opium bed she bought on eBay for $5,000. I told her it was beautiful. It was. But I was also thinking that there was absolutely no possible reason for such a ridiculous expense. I may have been wrong.

Brightblack Morning Light’s third LP, Motion to Rejoin, thankfully, isn’t that much different from their 2006 self-titled sophomore effort. While it doesn’t come with the pot-leaf- and rainbow-adorned kaleidoscope glasses its predecessor did, the sound of the new record is cut from that same enjoyable cloth. It again drips heavy with Rhodes, drawn-out psychedelic meanderings and the same less-sing, more-slither dual vocals of Rachael Hughes and Naybob Shineywater. It again unravels at a molasses-drip pace and features plenty of fuzz and muted horns. Really, only subtle, nuanced differences are to be found in the already non-flinching deliberateness of both records. But it doesn’t matter that they sound alike. This is the landscape that BML travels, and it’s a fun one for listeners to navigate.

Tree-hugger / new-age / hippie trappings can sometimes ruin things like this, but BML dodge that bullet by being resolute in their vision. Like an air-filled jumper, once you get past the crawling inside part, it’s damn near impossible not to have a good time. Motion is a healthy wine-buzz for the ears and the perfect soundtrack for lying on a $5,000 opium bed. Just don’t operate heavy machinery after listening.
—Scott McDonald

Brightblack Morning Light play Monday, Oct. 20, at The Casbah.

Conor Oberst
Conor Oberst
(Merge)
*9.8*

Goes well with: Long drives and short days

When something new strikes enough of a nerve to actually leave a wake of hope and inspiration, pundits and laymen alike rush to crown it as “the next” in a line of greatness. Kobe Bryant is “the next Michael Jordan,” Jack White is “the next Jimi Hendrix” and so on. While the pigeonholing has to be flattering, it holds the newbies against a template already drawn. Thus has been the case with Conor Oberst, who years ago was anointed “the next Bob Dylan.” While the Nebraska wordsmith wrangles his lyrics with panache akin to Mr. Zimmerman, he’s far more confessional than Dylan ever was. On his recently released eponymous solo set, the troubadour has officially morphed into the first Conor Oberst. The 12-song collection meanders from erstwhile rockers (“I Don’t Want to Die in the Hospital”), to traveling ditties (“Moab”) and introspective folk gems (“Milk Thistle”). While Oberst isn’t redefining music, he is putting his own unmistakable stamp on it, which is something no one else seems to be doing today. For that reason he really does stand alone.
—Paul Saitowitz

Conor Oberst plays Sunday, Oct. 19, at SOMA.

Okkervil River
The Stand Ins
(Jagjaguwar)
*5.8*

Goes well with: The Arcade Fire, Neutral Milk Hotel, Bright Eyes

After a series of lauded albums, Okkervil River’s new release is a sequel to last year’s The Stage Names and even more boring than the original. They seem to be media darlings for their mix of multi-instrument, folky rock and singer Will Sheff’s somber lyrical tales of woe. But when you’ve had “next big thing” status for four years, it’s obvious, to me at least, that the music isn’t registering with anyone other than bespectacled music critics.

That might have to do with Sheff, who realizes all too much the importance of being earnest. Even when he’s singing jocular lyrics like “I go home, take off clothes, smoke a bowl, watch a whole TV movie” (“On Tour with Zykos”), he sounds as if it’s his last mortal act. In fact, he rarely sounds unserious within any context, which makes all the thematic elements of Okkervil’s conceptual records sound stifled and stunted—as if he’s trying to tell an entertaining story but doesn’t quite know how to tell it entertainingly.

As an addition to their canon, Okkervil have stuck to their proverbial guns, but as a sequel, it’s just more good news for people who love bad news.
—Seth Combs