Conor Oberst: Dylan-esque genius or perpetually whiny teenager?  This is the question that comes to my mind every time I pop in a Bright Eyes album.  I get this annoyed feeling of shame when Conor’s voice screeches onto the stereo; there’s enough pain and introspection to make a person sick.  But then the music starts tumbling forward in an infectious way and Conor’s voice rises up above it, saying things that I can’t help but admit are painfully true.  He lays out his depression and longing in a way that makes me, the diehard woman who said, “I will not listen to whiny guys singing about their sad lives” sit up and listen.

“Lifted...” is another good effort from Bright Eyes.  Musically, it’s stellar.  One thing is for certain; Conor knows how to pick out good musicians.  He doesn’t have a problem trading in someone old for someone new or adding embellishments to his music in the guise of unusual instruments.  He also continues to show this cute propensity to keeping personal elements in production.  For example, the long extended recording that precedes the first song.  It sounds like he just turned on a tape recorder while riding around in the car with friends.

Later, there’s a drunken choir that belts out the chorus in “Laura Laurent.” I love these added elements for the fact that they disrupt the normal course of the album. However, it’s quite possible that since I was born in Nebraska they’re even more important to me than they would be to others.  This kind of informal stuff is what makes the album “Nebraskan” to me.  Listening to an album that contains the voices of drunken people at a Lincoln bar that I’ve actually been to makes me get all Nebraska nostalgic.  Which doesn’t happen too often, I can assure you.

Lyrically, the words remain true to what I’ve come to expect from Conor: some great insights on the dark worlds of depression and doubt.  This is the kind of album you’d pop in when you’re laying in bed in the dark.  You let the pain in his voice take you in and somehow you feel comforted by it.  I can’t explain how this works exactly, but I think it has something to do with empathy.

Those who like Bright Eyes, we feel can relate to Conor’s descriptions.  He does depression justice, even when he’s belting out something completely over the top like “Do you like to hurt?/I do, I do/Then hurt me.” It doesn’t matter to me that it all seems a little silly in the clear light of day; at the point when I’m most feeling Conor’s music, the world seems to fit his sad vision.  This connection is cathartic for me and I suspect is the reason he’s growing ever more popular.

However, “Lifted...” isn’t quite the album that “Fevers And Mirrors” turned out to be.  The album as a whole isn’t as tight; some of the songs meander enough to make you mutter “self-indulgent artist type” under your breath.  I definitely have my finger on the skip button several times per listen.  I don’t know if Conor was feeling a bit unsettled when he was writing due to the pressure of his growing fame, but he misfired a couple of times in trying to be too esoteric, too philosophical.

“Waste of Paint,” “Don’t Know When But A Day Is Gonna Come,” and even “Let’s Not Shit Ourselves (To Love and To be Loved)”—despite the great title of that last one—all go on far too long.  They don’t have that tempered rawness that makes Bright Eyes so great.  He’s stripped down and naked but he’s not a blathering, depressed fool.  His best songs show a great grip on structure; especially the old, old trick of the surging finish.  That surging chorus/finish is what gets me every time when I hear Conor’s songs.  That’s where the hope lies, in that upswing of sound.

Overall, “Lifted...” is worth getting for a few signature Bright Eyes tunes: “Lover I Don’t Have to Love,” “From A Balance Beam,” and “You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will”, to name a few.  These are the songs that make you want to listen to the album over and over again when you first get it.  However, if you’re new to Bright Eyes territory, it’d be best to pick up “Fevers And Mirrors” for a more coherent listen.

And in case you didn’t catch Jason’s endorsement of a live Bright Eyes show, let me reiterate: go check out Bright Eyes next time you can.  Unfortunately, they just finished up the US leg of their tour so you’ll probably have to wait until next year, but it’s well worth it.  There’s nothing like live, angst-ridden music sung by an extremely doe-eyed, fragile looking boy.  What can I say?  I am so taken in.

Written by Ruth Williams.

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• Dec 3, 2002, 12:00am