eviews of B-sides and rarities compilations are virtually interchangeable. “Yes, some nice tracks, some experiments, a few keepers, almost exclusively a fan-only proposition, thank you, move along.” With the exception of self-sabotaging punk groups or the extensively remixed catalogues of electronic artists, the B-side, the 7” split, and the drunk four-track recording of the singer badly strumming an acoustic guitar tend to be accomplishments vastly inferior to an act’s officially released output. The odds-and-ends comp is inessential for the same reason it is intermittently compelling; freed from the constraints of quality control, the artist has the autonomy to try out ideas that range from the dull to the unusual to the utterly ridiculous.

The problem with applying this dictum to Noise Floor, a collection of vinyl-only tracks, UK singles, and other assorted flotsam and jetsam from Nebraska’s Bright Eyes, isn’t readily apparent when it begins. “Mirrors and Fevers” is a rarities comp track par excellence: it consists of snatches of melody amidst ambient crowd noise before Conor Oberst barges in and finishes it off a cappella. Except—hang on—Oberst woke up his last album, I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning, with a spoken word introduction. Oh, and 2003’s Lifted, or The Story is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground lifted off with seven minutes of ambient driving noise, snatches of conversation, and some a cappella singing. And then there was the staged interview on the penultimate track of 2000’s Fevers and Mirrors. When Oberst is so willing to treat his albums like odds and ends compilations, how does an actual Bright Eyes odds and ends comp compare to an official release?

Luckily, much of Oberst’s appeal rests on a consistent set of characteristics—quirks that make much of this collection work well together. Whether in his most rough-shod or most fully realized productions, Oberst unerringly relies on his quavering voice, his earnestly direct lyrics, and the kind of gut-wrenching chord changes that make those lyrics meaningful in spite of their occasional ludicrousness. That makes the record a tough proposition for those who revile his work—the disc certainly doesn’t reveal any previously hidden talents that could convince Oberst’s detractors of his worth. But it also means that even the slightest song-sketches contain the suggestion of something better, or even, in the case of 2002 vinyl only B-side “Amy in the White Coat,” a song-sketch the equal of many of his album tracks.

Oberst chooses not to sequence Noise Floor chronologically, removing the possibility of this becoming an alternate career biography of sorts. And while I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning (Oberst’s commercially and critically best-received release to date) benefited from a thematic and musical focus his previous efforts lacked, those uneven albums were—in many ways—equally enjoyable for their naivete and ambition. Case in point: “I Will Be Grateful for This Day,” a 2001 release for the Sub Pop Singles Club, combines chiming electric guitar with organ and a drum machine, predicting Oberst’s electronic moves on Digital Ash in a Digital Urn. Elsewhere, “Blue Angels Air Show,” while not completely formed, has enough of the disarmingly emotive moments that Oberst has built his career upon to make it an invaluable exhumation.

Noise Floor could be improved with some track substitutions; the Bright Eyes non-album catalogue is extensive, and it seems a grave oversight to completely ignore the superb Bright Eyes/Neva Dinova split EP, One Jug of Wine, Two Vessels or Home Vol. IV, the collaboration with Spoon’s Britt Daniel for Post Parlo Records. In the digital age, such oversights are inconvenient rather than tragic. And, anyway, Noise Floor does make any pretensions towards perfection; it has some nice tracks, some experiments and more than a few keepers, and, yes, it’s almost exclusively a fan-only proposition. Thank you. Move along