Conor Oberst’s self titled album and the first under his own name (minus his cassettes made in high school), is not the coming-of-age masterpiece that some may expect from the Nebraskan. Best known for his work under the Bright Eyes moniker, the wide-eyed 28-year-old offers up a batch of tunes that are his most straight-forward set of country-rock to date. Containing some gems and a little filler, it is not Oberst’s most affecting work but it sounds as though he likes it and is enjoying himself - and that goes a long way for the listener.

Recorded earlier this year in the relaxed surroundings of Tepoztlan, a town in Mexico known for its “spiritual energy”, this move was a reaction to the grandiose studio production of 2007’s Cassadaga. Backed by the Mystic Valley Band, which includes some original Bright Eyes musicians, this change in surroundings produced a singer and a set of songs that sound perfectly at ease.

The serenity of the new album almost trickles from the opening acoustic ballad, Cape Canaveral. The song charms you with its nostalgic wistfulness but on repeated listenings, stuns you with its lyrical imagery. Oberst sings these surreal words to someone cherished from his past: “You’ve been a daughter to me, your buried shoebox grief/ I felt your poltergeist love like savannah heat/ While the waterfall was pouring, crazy symbols of my destiny/ I watched your face die backwards, little baby in my memory” - this is a songwriter in fine form indeed.

The songs perhaps hint at a new Oberst, one that tends toward a more existentialist approach, a contrast to the songs that formed much of 2005's I’m Wide Awake record. Many of the new songs are shrouded in a sense of mysticism, while the topic of his lyrics have shifted to centre on larger themes of death and mortality, rather than tied to Obersts’ personal insecurities.

Despite these arguably morbid themes, ironically he sounds like he's having the time of his life with these tracks. Case in point is I Don’t Wanna Die (In the Hospital) where, backed by a honkey-tonk piano, Oberst audaciously sings about the plight of a man who spends his time hatching his escape plans in a refusal to die in a hospital bed: “They don’t let you smoke and you can’t get drunk / All there is to watch is these soap operas.” This song isn’t any type of revelation but similar to the marching-band stomp of NYC-Gone, Gone and the boisterous Souled Out! where Oberst shouts, “You won’t be getting in! / All souled out in heaven!”, these songs are infectious in their joyous abandon, and each track never seems devoid of purpose.

Similar themes are explored in Danny Callahan where the tune’s jaunty melody offsets his lyrics about a young boy who dies of bone marrow cancer. However, rather than an anger at the unfairness of life’s cycles, the song is bittersweet and gives rise to an acceptance, albeit begrudging, of the things we cannot control.

Standing as the one rough-and-ready truth or perhaps, hope, in the album is the redemptive powers Oberst has learnt from time on the road. On Get-Well-Cards the singer claims, “There’s no sorrow that the sun’s not going to help” and on Moab he promises, “There’s nothing that the road cannot heal.” It is in the essence of these lyrics and their delivery that one cannot help but hear echoes of Dylan. But while Oberst’s latest effort is the closest he has come to sounding like Dylan, this album also strongly resounds with a wit and style that is uniquely Oberst's.

In case anyone thinks the singer-songwriter is free of the doubt and despair that has revered him to so many, he reminds the listener of the heavy burden he carries on the gentle closing track, Milk Thistle, where he promises: “I’ll keep death on my mind like a heavy crown.” However even in the stripped back songs, which have always been Obersts’ most affecting, we are left with the impression that he is no longer as vulnerable as he once was. And that is a heartening realisation. While Oberst may not be wearing his heart quite so heavily on his sleeve these days, the listener can rest assured his songwriting remains as fearless as ever.