Okkervil River’s complicated and flawed masterpiece, Black Sheep Boy, found inspiration in an unexpected place, ultimately becoming career-affirming.
In 2005, it would have been impossible for Will Sheff to believe that Black Sheep Boy would be Okkervil River’s high-water mark. He was on such a creative streak that Black Sheep Boy Appendix, released the following year, actually included a few songs (“No Key, No Plan”, “Another Radio Song”) that rivaled anything on the record. Sure, the first two albums were precious in their own way, and some would make a case for The Stage Names (2007) or even the return-to-form The Silver Gymnasium (2013), but, for my money, nothing comes close to touching Black Sheep Boy.
Sheff begins the record with a faithful rendition of the title track, a Tim Hardin folk song. Hardin, who died of a heroin overdose at the age of 39, supposedly wrote the song during a time when he was battling addiction. For his part, Sheff shared in a Medium interview that he was coming off a four-year relationship and was dissatisfied with the whole recording process, including the finished product of Down the River of Golden Dreams (2003). There was a lot he was trying to work through.
He said, “I started to give up faith that the band was ever gonna be successful. I felt like we’d been beating our heads against a wall. I didn’t really have any money, and I felt like we weren’t getting anywhere with it. I kind of made a little agreement with myself, which was that if this record didn’t take off, I was just going to quit music.” The album concept came in a flash while listening to Hardin on a road trip with his father to see his brother graduate from college. Sheff needed rejuvenation, and this moment started him down a specific path, using what he had learned from challenges he experienced in both recording and love.
Black Sheep Boy is a concept album of sorts, not in the traditional sense that unfurls as a story throughout a record, but one that deals with recurring themes and sees the central figure reappearing throughout.
The cover art, designed by Providence artist William Schaff, lends itself to the tale. Black Sheep Boy has aptly been compared to Neutral Milk Hotel‘s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea (1998), not just due to the artwork that stirs the imagination, but as an album that centers on emotion, whilst a blue-eyed, fair-haired boy with horns bursts with obscure meaning (just as Anne Frank did for Jeff Magnum). There’s no denying the similarities between each angst-ridden drama, draped in vintage sounds with occasional horns.
The subject of radio and airwaves weaves in and out of the work. “In a Radio Song” foregrounds natural sounds, like the whoosh of air and birds chirping, accompanied by intermittent soft strums and plucks of an acoustic guitar and mandolin. Yet it crackles in how it sounds broadcast from a distant time or place. “A Glow” and “Another Radio Song” (the latter featured in the Appendix) give rise to fears caused by what lies hidden within the radio waves. No real explanation is provided for this unease, only a general sense of disquiet that permeates the work, brought about through visions of violence, personal demons, and an all-consuming mythical figure.
Regarding his vocal style, Sheff oscillates between sounding distant and aggressively intimate. Some tracks call for an objective vantage point, while others are deeply personal, necessitating such an intense reaction. Pitchfork’s review from that time said that Sheff sounded mad, not angry necessarily, but hysterical. That sense of imbalance can be felt broadly, but is especially revealed during Black Sheep Boy‘s key moments.
The most immediate track, “For Real”, sounds like emo having gone off the rails. Consider the lyrics, “I really miss what really did exist / When I held your throat so tight / And I miss the bus as it swerved from us / Almost came crashing to its side.” We get a very different picture from the Smiths‘ “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” in that nothing here is imagined, where wishing one had been hit by a bus feels more shocking than daydreams about dying by your lover’s side. The song is excellent because it’s so intense, but it hasn’t aged too well (as my friend and I experienced as early as 2011, when Okkervil River played it live to hushed response).
“For Real” is not the only song that sounds threatening in retrospect, as the tenor and tone of “A Glow” come across as overly possessive. The lyrics address the subject directly (“And you’re no one’s but mine”), accompanied by understated instrumentation that moves along at a plodding pace. Many of the fans initially smitten by Sheff’s emotional embellishments found greater substance throughout the rest of the record, including songs that packed as much intensity without lacking in subtext.
The phenomenal “So Come Back, I Am Waiting” paints the clearest and most complicated picture of the title character. The black sheep boy as a figure is multifaceted and frightening, shapeshifting in amorphous ways yet achieving a stature bigger than life. The character is diabolical, all-consuming, and tempting at every turn, making statements like “there’s plenty of time to make you mine tonight” and “there’s plenty of light still left in your eyes”. For those battling addiction, it’s the monkey on one’s back; those powerless with rage will feel its warm adrenaline rush (captured perfectly with the lyrics “You’ve got yours, I’ve got mine”).
The epic song achieves moments of climax when the guitar chords strike and other instruments join in, eventually featuring a full orchestral arrangement. “So Come Back, I Am Waiting”, essentially the conceptual framework for the record, comes to a close with the protagonist fleeing from the black sheep boy’s gasp. But the question remains, can you ever escape his control? Even if the imagery is not necessarily biblical, like the devil, the black sheep boy entices the protagonist to return (“to your life on the lam”—pun intended). He reminds him that he will forever be lying in wait.
Elsewhere on the LP, Sheff deals with matters so harrowing they would call for an equally strong reaction but are ironically poppy. “Black”, which has become a fan favorite, deals with abduction and likely abuse, with the singer attempting to remain a confidant while being moved to violence. He desperately wants to tear out this guy’s throat or, at the very least, fuck up his new life by telling his wife and kid. In the Medium interview, Sheff said, “I always liked when a sad song was poppy and vice versa. You know, it feels like it’s truer somehow.” That is certainly the case with “Black”, which is remembered more for its upbeat tone than what lies hidden beneath.
Reflecting upon the slew of superb albums from 20 years ago, nearly all contained a thematic or emotional turning point. It didn’t necessarily come during the climax, as with “All the Wine” by the National and “I’ll Believe In Anything” by Wolf Parade. “Use It” kicked New Pornographers‘ Twin Cinema into high gear, which the band sustained throughout most of the record; Sleater-Kinney‘s “Entertain” found Janet Weiss trying to wreck her drum kit mid-album; Sufjan Stevens‘ “Chicago” was as big and anthemic as its namesake city; and the Hold Steady‘s “Stevie Nix” started aggressive then got confessional, like any good addiction story.
The emotional center for Okkervil River’s Black Sheep Boy is “A Stone”. The track unveils a speaker who is fiery and passionate, whereas his love interest prefers somebody hard and cool. Sheff sings, “Am I losing my cool / Overstating my case / Well, baby, what can I say? / You know I never claimed / That I was a stone.”
The song ends with a medieval fable about a queen who lives in a castle built of stones and a suitor who brings a bouquet every day, only to be overlooked for another who brought one rose years ago. The allegorical tale about unrequited love speaks to a deep sorrow throughout Black Sheep Boy, maybe due to Sheff’s failed relationship or just life’s general disappointment. In either case, it’s an arresting moment that delivers every time.
Okkervil River extended their excellent run with the critical favorite The Stage Names and its lesser counterpart The Stand Ins (2008). It’s no coincidence that multi-instrumentalist Jonathan Meiburg departed the band just prior to the release of The Stand Ins (and gave quite the farewell with his vocal accompaniment on “Lost Coastlines”).
The parting was amicable, for Meiburg to focus his efforts on his band Shearwater, but something was certainly lost when he left. Although not a founding member, Meiburg’s contributions were more significant than Kurt Vile‘s in War on Drugs or Josh Tillman’s in Fleet Foxes. The strength of that five (maybe four-and-a-half) album stretch can at least partially be attributed to his presence. Arguably, the centerpiece of that period, Black Sheep Boy, greatly benefits from his proficiency on electric guitar, organ, and keys.
Sheff remains front and center, playing the part of a more grounded Jeff Magnum, a cooler Ben Folds, a less angsty Conor Oberst. Those appellations now exist because, instead of throwing it all away two decades ago, he was determined to give it one last go. Unlike one of his idols in Hardin, who tried and failed (similarly explored through his friendship and collaboration with Roky Erickson), Sheff found success big enough for an indie artist of the time, ultimately proving career-affirming.
Sheff recommitted himself to his craft and became an auteur who could function as a solo artist or with his ever-evolving band. Okkervil River’s Black Sheep Boy‘s legacy is similar to the work from which it was derived; it comes from a challenging place yet remains complicated, flawed, and inherently brilliant.