If the Brakeman Turns My Way

Part 3 of "A Thick Mist of Change"

Welcome to “A Thick Mist of Change,” a series of essays where I review every song on my favorite album, Cassadaga by Bright Eyes, exploring its lyrics and themes, soundscape, the musicians who contributed to the song, reflections from the artist, and the song’s place in the album. Last month I covered “Four Winds.”

Hot Knives/If the Brakeman Turns My Way 7-inch shared courtesy of Zack Nipper. Click here to check out Zack’s reflections on the art.

Bird’s Eye View of “If the Brakeman Turns My Way”

Conor Oberst tips his hat to fate in this meditation ballad about finding balance and living on the rail line.

“If the Brakeman Turns My Way” is a reflection on fate that manages to hit universal and timeless themes even as it intimately depicts the experience of being overcome by panic and doubt. In classic Bright Eyes fashion, each verse of “Brakeman” is its own vignette that may not have an obvious connection to what came before or after, but a common through-line emerges to tie them all together. The mantra in the verses of “Brakeman” revolves around breaking free from the claustrophobia of the human condition - whether that’s finding a place to sit alone to collect yourself, giving yourself the time to come down, escaping to another life altogether, or even taking that big step back to appreciate the order in the vast balancing act of life and death. While the verses rotate like moons around the “level out” mantra, the choruses of “Brakeman” offer a weightier point of gravity around which the song spins. Destiny is analogized by train hoppers fleeing their troubles by putting their faith in the brakeman, who controls the switches that set the train on the tracks to its destination. “Brakeman” showcases Conor Oberst’s command of his craft and serves as an example of his once-in-generation talent.

The Lyrics

When panic grips your body and your heart’s a hummingbird
Raven thoughts blacken your mind until you're breathing in reverse
And all your friends and sedatives mean well, but make it worse
Every reassurance just magnifies the doubt
Better find yourself a place to level out

Got a cricket for a conscience, always looks the other way
A cocaine soul starts seeming like an empty cabaret
Hey, where have all the dancers gone? Now the music doesn't play
Tried to listen to the river but you couldn't shut your mouth
Better take a little time to level out

I never thought of running
My feet just led the way

Mixed up signals
Bullet train
Cars are switched out in the crazy rain
I could meet you any place
If the brakeman turns my way

All this automatic writing I have tried to understand
From a psychedelic angel who was tugging on my hand
It's an infinite coincidence but it doesn't form a plan
So I'm headed for New England or the Paris of the South
Going to find myself somewhere to level out

Are your brothels full, oh Babylon, with merry middlemen?
Never peer out of their periscopes from those deep opium dens
All this death must need a counterweight, always someone born again
First a mother bathes her child, then the other way around
The scales always find a way to level out

I tried to pass for nothing
But my dreams gave me away

Mixed up signals
Bullet train
People snuffed out in the brutal rain
I could live to any age
If the brakeman turns my way

It is an old world, it's hard to remember
Like a dime store mystery
And I'm a repeat first time offender
Who has rewritten history

Mixed up tea leaves
Phantom pain
Fuzzy logic in the the crazy rain
Getting better every day
If the brakeman turns my way

Mixed up signals
Bullet train
Cars are switched out in the blinding rain
He'll be smiling
as he seals my fate
When the brakeman turns my way

The intimate portrait of anxiety Conor paints in the first verse brings to life the sensation of being trapped in a panic attack. In this series so far, I have tried to parse out the meaning of the lyrics, but sometimes I just have to stand back and marvel at the craftsmanship. I have always loved the overlapping images of fluttering hummingbird wings standing in for a racing heartbeat and the raven representing a mind bent up with depression. The feeling that everything is so precisely wrong and irresolvable is artfully detailed, with lines like “all your friends and sedatives mean well but make it worse” and “every reassurance just magnifies the doubt” that are so effective in their expression, it is easy to miss their power.

A similarly deflated experience presents itself in the comparison of a “cocaine soul” to an “empty cabaret.” The poignant scene of what should be a dance hall filled with music is drained of all life and represents the hollowed out soul after sustained drug use. “Hard drugs, I think, make you selfish, make you not care about people,” Conor said in 2007. “I've experienced it first hand and I've also watched good friends totally disappear.” Together, these verses build towards a short and simple pre-chorus that accelerates into the chorus and themes of fate: “I never thought of running/My feet just led the way.”

I love the chaos of the choruses in “Brakeman,” as cars are switched out and train hoppers hide from Railroad Bulls in the crazy, blinding, and brutal rain. “I just think of them as these lost souls who wanted to go somewhere and didn't know where,” Oberst told The Guardian about this song in 2007. “They didn't necessarily care where they'd end up - they just knew they had to leave, and they'd jump on the back of a train, and it was kind of all up to the brakeman, to fate, which direction you go." Alongside the mantra in the verses, Conor seems to be leaning on mysterious forces outside his control to bring some peace of mind and get him to where he belongs.

Artwork by Keilantra via Tumblr

Endless possibility is in no way tempered by the lack of control over one’s own destiny, with the lines “I could meet you any place if the brakeman turns my way” and “I could live to any age if the brakeman turns my way.” That’s the mindset of any dreamer or lost soul riding the rails of predestination. Surrendering yourself to the will of the brakeman is an act of defiance and vulnerability. These lines are clearly delivered with irony, but set against the state of mind expressed in the first two verses, the absurdity of one-in-a-million may be preferable.

Choruses (the repeating hook of a song) are rare artifacts in Bright Eyes songs. Conor’s early work is scattered with chorus-like objects, but the title of any given song was more likely to come from a stray line in a verse or bridge or some other part with no particular name that only works in Bright Eyes songs. Cassadaga doesn’t fully break from this tradition, but “Brakeman” is an example of a song with a prominent refrain that centers the song around a clear theme. However, none of the choruses in this song are exactly alike, which could be a sign of Conor’s defiance against the pop form, but could just as easily be because he has too many good ideas to express and is generous with his audience. At the same time, this song has three repeating hooks - level out, moving out, and if the brakeman turns my way.

The next verse finds Conor with his spiritual aspirations intact, using automatic writing to try to channel his higher self. The best definition I’ve found of this practice is “a process in which the writer suspends the conscious mind and allows the hand to move across the paper at the behest of outside forces.” As I noted in my “Four Winds” post, the poet WB Yeats seems to have been a major influence on Cassadaga, and automatic writing was a massive part of his life and work. He and his wife held over 400 séances in which they tried to channel spirits and Yeats used these sessions as the source material for a huge swath of his writing, and particularly the book “A Vision” that pours with apocalyptic theories. Wild stuff. Conor refers to a “psychedelic angel that was tugging on my hand,” suggesting he had a little extra help to connect with the dead. But there is no pattern to discern in the practice, or as Conor says, “It’s an infinite coincidence but it doesn’t form a plan.” A recurring theme in Bright Eyes songs is “Stray Dog Freedom” - the instinct to up and go the second your freedom could be at stake, no matter how good or bad, minor or heavy the tradeoff might be - and that is all he can think to do here as he flees to anywhere else. Where exactly doesn’t matter. It could be New England or (I think?) New Orleans.

In the final verse, we are revisited by some of the themes from “Four Winds” in the brothels of Babylon and meet the middlemen who either run or patronize them. They will get their own song later on the album. Cocooned in their own fantasies, death finds its home in overdoses either inflicted by or upon these middlemen. In one of those lines that has more wisdom than you could ever expect from a 25-26 year old, Conor demonstrates his timeless songwriting abilities with “First a mother bathes her child then the other way around/The scales always find a way to level out.” This always makes me think about the children’s book “Love You Forever.” It’s a beautiful expression of the cycle of life and is a shining moment of peace that is only granted with the perspective of the big picture.

Right when all the themes come into clarity, an interlude layers in a final enigma to unravel. In a brief bridge, Conor plays with the insignificance of it all. In an endlessly interpretable stanza, the history of the world or the story we tell ourselves about it can be shaped and reshaped by its most minor figures. “It’s an old world, it’s hard to remember/Like a dime store mystery/And I’m a repeat first time offender/Who has rewritten history.” I have always found this to be a fascinating set of lines but as I set about trying to pull my thoughts together on it, my little theories get all tangled up and contradict each other, or the broader themes of the song, at every turn. When I get lost, I’m not above asking for directions. I went to my core Bright Eyes friend group. Here’s what they said:

• “He’s trying to make sense of these large, existential questions that have been around forever. We spend all this time pondering religion, trying to find truth, but everyone before has already explored these concepts through and through (repeat first time offender).”

• “It’s hard to remember things that are far away. There’s something we are trying to remember but we never got to experience. There’s something that we continue to do without noticing or being able to learn from. Perspective matters and how details and ‘history’ change depending on the narrator.”

• “I’ve been thinking about this all day…and for the last fifteen years. And I know less about it than ever. It’s probably the case that whatever sense you can make of it, that’s the answer.”

I can’t say I know the answer. But it sure is an interesting one to dissect. If I get the chance to interview Conor for this project, this will certainly be one of the lines I ask about.

In the second to last chorus, Jason Boesel (drummer of Rilo Kiley and the Mystic Valley Band who is a credited songwriter on “Brakeman”) temporarily jumps into the role of lead singer and adds his own twist on the future obscured by the brakeman in the line “Mixed up tea leaves.” He also alludes to lost limbs in the freighthopping life with “Phantom pain,” the sensation of feeling a limb that you no longer have. The final line of the song puts a nice bow on the whole adventure: “He’ll be smiling as he seals my fate when the brakeman turns my way.”

The Soundscape and Creators

There isn’t a song in the Bright Eyes catalogue that sounds quite like the arrangements in “Brakeman.” It’s one of the few Bright Eyes songs where just the three core members of the band play all the non-percussive, melodic instruments. It’s also only one of a handful of Bright Eyes songs in B Major (“Another Traveling Song” and “Coyote Song” are the only other ones I can think of).

Conor holds his own on the piano, laying down a chord progression that wanders and continuously changes for nearly 40 seconds before the next one arrives. There’s something about the quality of the vocal melody in the verses that sounds like it should be played out of a gramophone, like it’s teleported from another time. Mike Mogis lays down bass with the instincts of a guitarist, voicing a melodic line in the first verse that embodies the weary desire to escape as well as any lyric does. The bass parts are unusually melodic throughout the song, with some especially inspired choices in the choruses and bridge.

The standout instrument in “Brakeman” is Nate Walcott’s sparkling organ that bathes the song in light. Organs sometimes have a built-in Leslie speaker that physically spins at different speeds to give that gospel effect. You can hear it wavering at changing speeds throughout the song and the shifts are clear enough that you can count the accelerating rotations into oblivion as the instrument moves from still to shimmer and back again. Nate is just so damn good - every second is an opportunity for more creative energy. A few moments that are worth listening closely to the organ:

• The shimmering quality described above really stands out before the drums come in when Conor sings, “Better find yourself a place to level out” at 0:27-0:42. I just love feeling it crank in and out of different speeds and you can hear it move from faster to slower and back again very clearly in this part.

• The lead-in to the chorus around 1:23 after “my feet just led the way” adds to the sense of getting away from it all.

• The melodic pirouette at 2:46 after “always someone born again” is so natural it feels like Nate found it growing under a tree and laid it here for us to find.

Mike Mogis’s pedal steel sits just behind the organ and pops in beautiful flourishes that add texture to the song’s meandering hopefulness. The pedal steel is a staple of the Bright Eyes sound and he achieves something unique in this song, with swelling bursts of life throughout. A few pedal steel moments I love:

• Everything Mogis plays in the second stanza of the first verse (“Got a cricket for a conscience…”) is worth a close listen (0:38-1:12). There are lush, intricate melodies sprinkled throughout that are easy to miss but showcase some of his best work on the album.

• It’s a simple part that passes quickly, but what Mike is playing in the space between the chorus and verse (1:49-1:53) is etched in my brain forever. Something about it is like a little capsule of the song that always stays with me.

• The emergence that sits under “From a psychedelic angel who was tugging on my hand” from 1:59-2:05 sounds like it’s giving birth to a spiritual revelation, a wonderful example of how Mike accentuates lyrics with sound.

Jason Boesel’s drums are as solid as ever, but his biggest mark on the soundscape may come from his “moving out” in the choruses that contribute to the choruses’ energy. I tried to interview Jason about his experience co-writing this song, but I wasn’t able to reach him. Macey Taylor, the bassist on many Bright Eyes and solo Conor Oberst songs, told me he thinks that Jason improvised the “moving out” lines in the choruses during the recording.

What “Brakeman” Means to Me

In 2019, Flea, the bassist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, randomly tweeted:

We later learned that Flea was playing bass on the new Bright Eyes record. When I first read this, I thought, Well yeah, they wrote “If the Brakeman Turns My Way.” In “Brakeman,” we get to see a blend of Conor as a visceral poet drawing on personal experience and a narrative storyteller stepping beyond himself to embody an entire philosophy.

I’m just going to say it… this is hands down one of the best songs ever written. Conor has patched together four lost souls with the thread of an American train hopping pastiche that wouldn’t be out of place hung beneath stained glass. He found worldly terms to describe what is typically only expressed as a matter if theistics.

There is something comforting about resigning yourself to fate, accepting in totality the whims of the universe and lifting the burden of self-determination from our existence. Set against “Four Winds,” an empathetic eye is turned to surrenderers to fate, to believers of destiny, to advocates of the preordained. Conor leans in wholeheartedly, fully accepting the premise of this worldview and making something beautiful with the palette it provides.

B-Side of the 7-inch album art provided by Zack Nipper

I didn’t realize until I sat down to write about the song that each verse also brings its own drug to the party: sedatives, cocaine, psychedelics, and opium. Sometimes the drug is the effect that must be tamed and other times it’s an inadequate solution to the problem at hand. This reflects the themes of balance and the cyclical nature of life. In the song, sedatives try to temper panic (positive), cocaine represents a hollowed out soul (negative), psychedelics are a search for spiritual meaning (positive), and opium is death (negative). But none possess a power to bring contentment strong enough to stay put and face life as it is.

The song also invokes characters and themes in other songs on the album: the Whore of Babylon from “Four Winds” (“Are your brothels full, oh Babylon?”); the “Middleman” (“With merry middlemen”); the Soul Singer in the Session Band is a prisoner of circumstance just like the train hoppers at the whim of the brakeman; the themes of getting clean from drugs in “Cleanse Song” are woven throughout; and “I Must Belong Somewhere” is a mirror image, pleading with one’s self not to run away and to find contentment where you are.

“If the Brakeman Turns My Way” is a song that has settled into my bones. I turn to it when I get that restless, urgent sense that the world is spiraling out of control. It lets you in on little secrets, reminding you that you aren’t the only one overcome by all this chaos. And it draws out the catharsis planted in the idea of fate that doesn’t require us to make any sense of our circumstances. It invites us to trust the universe, even for a moment, to discover the unexpected freedom in notions of destiny. It calls back, in a way, to one of my favorite Bright Eyes lyrics:

An argument for consciousness
The instinct of that blind insect
Who never thinks not to accept its fate
That’s faith, there’s happiness in death

Here’s to hoping the brakeman turns your way today.

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I’d love to hear what “If the Brakeman Turns My Way” means to you. Please start a conversation in the comments! Next month, I’ll explore “Hot Knives,” a crunchy, orchestra-drenched tale of transformation. If you are enjoying this series, I would appreciate it if you would share it with friends in your life who love good music and storytelling, especially Bright Eyes fans who want to dive deeper on this album.

Read More of the Series

• Introducing “A Thick Mist of Change”

• Clairaudients (Kill or Be Killed) - May 2025

• Four Winds - June 2025