Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was

As talented as Oberst is on his own, his symbiotic relationship with the other members of Bright Eyes makes it easily Oberst’s best project and one I hope continues on for the foreseeable future.

At once bleak, grey and obsessed with morbidity, and lush, blooming and gorgeous, it’s great to have them back.

Down in the Weeds is at odds with itself—where the band balances music that is ambitious in scope with some of Obert's most nakedly personal work. But just like his complicated and sometimes narcissistic persona, there's a good argument to make about how his over-the-top approach perfectly suits him. That aside, Oberst and his cohorts' generous offering does take them on new, unexplored territory while remaining true to his wry prose.

They're spinning a lonely, sad narrative on Down in the Weeds..., but in telling the story they share it with all of us, which naturally transforms it.

By the time the album’s 54 minutes have drawn to a close, you feel exhausted but in the best possible way.

Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was is very complicated lyrically and also very fresh. The trio championed the moody music that college English students sat in their dorms and cried too, and Bright Eyes doesn’t leave that signature out, but they doctor up the sonics resulting in a dense return from a long hiatus.

While “Down in the Weeds” may be an apt reflection of the anxiety and fury many feel today, it doesn’t require that context to connect. Prior to their hiatus, Bright Eyes had never made music with an expiration date. With a tenth album now factored in, that streak remains intact.

At its heart, Down in the Weeds is a wounded, hopeful take on the Los Angeles midlife-crisis record (he moved there a few years ago). It’s a topic well-suited for Oberst’s abstract cynicism, as he tackles crumbling SoCal interstates, Malibu beach disasters, and, of course, yoga.

Unlike the singer’s rootsy solo work, Down In The Weeds is rich in what brought many of us to Bright Eyes in the first place: the drama. ... There’s the mature reflection he intertwines with his urgency. There’s his hard-fought optimism. And there’s the embrace of community, the sense that Oberst doesn’t want to stare down these songs alone.

What comes reverberating out of Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was is Bright Eyes’ deep desire to create beautiful and ambitious music, which they’ve certainly done – even if the results aren’t as essential as what’s come before.

It’s a fitting record for the global unease of the past few months, but one that’s characteristically intimate.

Found sounds and out-of-context conversations are the band’s signatures. ... Sometimes it works (the sudden intrusion of bagpipes on “Persona Non Grata”); sometimes it’s all a bit too much and the songs feel excessively crowded. But many of the most powerful moments on this record are uncharacteristically straightforward.

By cycling through so many varied musical styles in the pursuit of bristling self-reflection, Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was offers an easy way through the endless morass of bad headlines and worse outcomes: Dance and sing.

Almost every song here shoves interpersonal woes against societal angst in a fundamentally Bright Eyes way.

The resulting record is a comfortable return to the sounds, themes, and band members that have made Bright Eyes’ music special to a generation of listeners. Where the band goes from here is anyone’s guess, but Bright Eyes’ latest is a satisfying new addition to a storied career.

Down in the Weeds avoids being either a phoned-in nostalgia trip or a wildly new direction that would alienate fans. Instead it continues Bright Eyes' evolution without skipping a beat, and manages to be one of their stronger records in the process.

Down in the Weeds is still a Bright Eyes album, with its share of obsessiveness, narcissism, and angst. Many songs have their sights set on calamity, from climate disaster to Oberst’s failed marriage. And yet, there’s also a refreshing maturity, a perspective that seems a bit wiser, a bit less ready to revel in self-loathing. ... That culmination — from grief to love — is what truly makes these Bright Eyes songs feel new.

These are precarious songs, Oberst's voice as fragile as an egg, yet when it comes to songwriting, Bright Eyes remain a safe pair of hands. [Oct 2020, p.84]

As with the best of Bright Eyes, there’s a bittersweet meeting of macabre words and folky tunefulness.

Smart audio trickery and intriguing atmospheres draw the listener in and, overall, it's a real beauty. [Sep 2020, p.111]

Unironically majestic set pieces that offer a ray of hope as this wild ride ends. [Oct 2020, p.28]

It's a logical continuation of 2007's slick Cassadaga (less so 2011's rock-inclined The People's Key) — but given the renaissance Oberst has enjoyed with his side-projects in recent years, it doesn't quite live up to Bright Eyes' lofty name.