There’s a soft subtle delight snoozing in the folds beneath your conscious whirring. It’s somewhere inoffensively existing. It’s attached to your habits, to your loyalties, to your individual hovel – that hovel with all the posters on the walls, photos, databases; it’s the place where you sleep; a place of gross sentimentality. This sentimental delight is ridiculously weird. With music for instance – I’m not sure whether some of my favourite singer-songwriters are indeed my favourite singer-songwriters because they are genuinely innovational/unique/inspiring, or whether it’s just because I’m used to their voice.
Because it’s really fucking nice being ‘used to’ someone’s voice. It’s a noise comfort that can always be there, noising. Being nice, perhaps saying really generic nice things, but in a really reassuring way. There is of course that memorable first love you had with the vocals, that ‘time’ when you listened to ‘those songs’ constantly. And that sticks. All the huge emotions that painted that ‘time’ become statues in the temple of your mind. Great big white statues; sculptures of emotions that might keep you hold and steady in later years. The intensity and the memorableness of the emotions would not be there without ‘that’ soundtrack of the singer’s songs you listened to for hours on end, the songs bring it all back; the statues of past-emotions would not be there without the sculptor.
And so, as the bizarrely ageing Conor Oberst puts out another song, I am caught in between worlds. The world of sentimentality (weird statue-analogy world) and the world of just digging the lyrics/guitar/vocals and appreciating it just as I would appreciate some sort of dope beat.
Listening to the song, I take a bit of both worlds; the coaxing of Conor’s reassuring lyrics/vocals*, and the apparent merit of the song grounded on its peaceful slow rhythm, appealing chord scheme (not too dissimilar to First Day of My Life) as well as the lyrics’ striking…imagery.
The new song is called “You Are Your Mother’s Child”.
It is Oberst at the most endearing end of his creations. The lyrics reflect their creator’s striking ability to interact with the most poignant but also with the most subtle of human sensations. Maybe. Maybe I’m just used to his voice.
Conor Oberst – You Are Your Mother’s Child
Why not get internet feeds on his whereabouts/activities – http://www.facebook.com/conoroberst
*All this talk about the reassuring “voice”: the merit of the voice is largely based on its being intwined with the words they pose. I.e. the vocals have to suit the lyrics to be valuable… and i wouldn’t care much for the sound bytes of Conor Oberst saying “aaaahhh” whilst brushing his teeth (and playing the guitar)…Or maybe I would.