No, it ultimately comes down to which LP had the greater emotional resonance and personal significance. And for this writer, "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" taught me how to be a better person — and how not to be a worse person, if we're being honest. Here, then, in honor of the 20th anniversary and Bright Eyes' upcoming show at The Van Buren on Jan. 16, are those album's life lessons for being a little more capable and present in everyday life.
Do: Be open and sincere
As mentioned, the crowning achievement of this record is "First Day of My Life," a ballad so endearing and sentimental it practically generates its own gravitational pull. But the thing that's always been so compelling about this song isn't just how gentle and romantic it is, or how Oberst is unafraid to be completely open and transparent with his love.No, it's that he frames this relationship as a kind of first — he's been alive before, surely, but now he's clearly paying attention and ready to be the best, most sincere version of himself. By coming at this relationship like a young child willing to learn and grow, he's hoping that he can be lively and thoughtful in other aspects of life. Not every relationship brings this urge out of us, but we've all hopefully found the one who makes us want to start from scratch and rebuild ourselves to be a better lover and an even better human. (Or at least be less regressive socially.)
It's a harrowing process, but Oberst exudes a kind of peace, and it's the dynamic that's inspired me to be more open and welcoming of the right influence and energies to continually grow. Love can't ever save your soul, but it sure can make you want to put in the work of being not a trash goblin.
Don't: Let your baser instincts rule
You don't hear Bright Eyes music and expect a lot of guitar-smashing or similar antics. (What might you expect? Perhaps breaking down and scream-crying into your hoodie.) But that kind of "dangerous rock star behavior" is exactly what we got when Bright Eyes appeared on "The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson" in February 2005. Sure, the song they performed ("Road to Joy") is especially anthemic and cathartic, a giant release of intent and emotion in an otherwise regularly sedated LP. But it's less the song and more the context that matters. Like, the fact that it's the final song on the LP, and how it makes it feel almost earned and deserved to finally let loose. Or that Oberst wasn't alone, and he and trumpeter Nate Walcott both blasted their beloved instruments. That shared approach wasn't just visually compelling, but showed that Oberst is more about actual emotional expression than just gestures.
The sane man knows when to share his thoughts and feelings and when a little primal force is necessary instead. Knowing that is the difference between true maturity and life as some perpetual Peter Pan.
Do: Be a little weird with it
"At the Bottom of Everything" is clearly a personal and professional high for Oberst and company. It's a very weird song on the surface, initially talking about a man and woman in a plane crash before segueing into perhaps the most politically and socially relevant song of the entire Bright Eyes catalog. (OK, some other songs cut deeper, but few are as bright and catchy as they are robust and intellectual.) But that's totally why this song is so great. It reminds us to embrace those things that are uneven, complicated and downright "not normal." And that if you can look at things from a different perspective (like finding the love and joy in a plane crash), maybe you can find new insight into the inner workings of the world. Or, it takes a certain humor and appreciation for absurdity to manage your way through life and still find something of value or something to honor and defend.
Either way, this number works as both a bizarre love song and a mighty revolutionary anthem, and in splitting the difference, Oberst has made deeply vital folk music. That, and the damn guitar is just so infectious.
Don't: Stay a child forever
As important and transcendent as this record remains to so many, it's not without its faults. One review from "AllMusic" said that this record avoided "reaching musical maturity," likely a response to the same publication deeming 2002's "Lifted or The Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground") as being extra emotionally resonant.Instead, this LP was seen as "wallowing in a perpetual adolescence," and it's hard to argue against that outright. As much as songs like "At the Bottom of Everything" and the simple but stirring "Train Under Water" have heft, they also see Oberst stuck in a way. He's very much trying to be a better human but he's also fenced in by his own anger.
It becomes, as it has already, about context. The sister record, "Digital Ash in a Digital Urn," doesn't wallow nearly as much; in fact, it feels like this snapshot of Oberst as a modern-day herald. Perhaps, then, Oberst recognizes the need for immaturity (as with the whole "destructive angle" with "Road to Joy") and embraces that fully prior to moving on. As if to say, "Get it out of your system, buddy, 'cause the real pain and work is to come."
It's a message and approach that rings as loudly and clearly as "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" is also very much a shining artifact of true emotional expression.
Do: Recognize that you’re mostly alone
"Lua" is one of those songs that gets plenty of attention from this record, but even that might not be enough. Because in this "era" of Bright Eyes — the two records, the experimental lean of "Digital Ash in a Digital Urn," etc. — such a simple and direct folk tune is deceptively powerful.We should all gravitate to it more as Oberst is at his most engaging, thoughtful and generally undeniable in this ballad about a doomed relationship amid the dual-headed threat of addiction and mental illness. For Oberst to go it alone, as it were — stripped down and wonderfully uncomplicated — really speaks to the power of his message here. Yes, we're all responsible for being available and open to others, but at the end of the day, the thing we have to do is come clean to ourselves and be accountable for our own goals and missteps.
Toward the end, Oberst admits, "Now it's so complicated/It was so simple in the moonlight," as if it pains him to see this arc but that there's a kind of relief and power in calling this what it is (hard and painful). Not that anything is ever made better, but there's some great achievement in knowing the world, how it might hurt you and the ways we can fight back with transparency and truth — if only for ourselves.
Don’t: Let others write your story
As powerful and generational of a writer as Oberst is, that doesn't mean everything he says is always so picture-perfect. Sometimes it's just a truth that may be too hard to hear (as with this "We Are Nowhere and It’s Now" lyric, "Why are you scared to dream of God? / When it's salvation that you want”). Other times, it's just that he sings and emotes in ways that are especially unique and/or deeply Oberst-ian in nature (like the "Poison Oak" lyric, "Well, let the poets cry themselves to sleep/And all their tearful words would turn back into steam").That's not to say that's all bad, but rather that Oberst is very much his own writer and creative force, and he works in such a way that he's interested in every reference and the tone of lyrics as it interacts with every other line. That's true of Bright Eyes in general, but on this record especially he brings the same silver wit and robust force to songs about dead friends or drug use/abuse.
The moral of the story? No one can tell your story like you can, and you've got to yell every poetry reference and angsty insult that you can every single time. Otherwise, you've failed to be yourself and you're doomed to be a pawn in someone else's fable. Only the truth — however oddly or uneven it may take shape — can truly set you free and make you a proper member of this weird world.
Bright Eyes. 7:30 p.m. Thursday, Jan. 16. The Van Buren, 401 W. Van Buren St. Tickets are $64.50. Visit thevanburenphx.com.
