From Omaha, Nebraska, a place not exactly known for producing rock singers and musicians, comes the band Bright Eyes, a very flexible collection of musicians led by the twenty-two year old Conor Oberst. Oberst has been receiving loads of print for both his solo work and his side project, Desaparecidos, even managing to land the politically charged band an unlikely plug on MTV News. Since he was fourteen years old, Oberst has been making musical waves, and Lifted is the newest and fourth release from Bright Eyes.

Oberst may be the headliner and the recognizable one, but the mob of musicians on the album and currently on tour with him make the most out of their seventy-three minute album.

Along with Dashboard Confessional, Conor Oberst has been grouped into the emo songwriting style, with lyrics marked by self-loathing, humiliation and pain usually limited to the journals of depressed high school students. The classic emo image is basically a kid playing his guitar and writing songs alone in his room while everyone else goes to the prom and there certainly are shades of such a tradition on Lifted. At one point, Oberst laments that "all I do is just lay in bed and hide under the covers," and near the album's end he notes that the "ambition I've found can lead only to failure." There is a sort of inner helplessness, disgust at the reflection in the mirror that provides a driving force and inspiration.

But like Dashboard Confessional's Chris Carraba, perhaps being labeled as an emo artist limits the notion of where Bright Eyes' music is going and what its true influences are. Even if the lyrics sound like therapy sessions, Oberst's music collection does not necessarily contain only Fugazi records. Use of the emo category has created more misunderstandings and artistic problems than it should have. This is so especially when considering Jimmy Eat World, who if they ever were emo, certainly are not anymore. The genre labeling is problematic in that it limits both artistic expectations and audience reach. It is not surprising if a fan of the Promise Ring buys Lifted. But how about a Velvet Underground fan? Or a Smiths fan?

Even among the slightly overproduced nature some songs take, with exaggerated and unnecessary intros like the sounds of car rides and footsteps, there is an unmistakable roots and folk element to what goes on in the album. "Waste of Paint" is reminiscent of early Springsteen recordings with its hard strumming and fast poetry that does not quite fit the music it surrounds. To trace this type of music even further, Oberst's style of writing greatly mirrors that of Dylan and even Guthrie, taking lines that do not flow and forcing them into music, somehow fitting them together in the process.

This is not to say that Oberst, lyrically or musically, is anywhere near as talented as Dylan or Springsteen. Although cursed with the "New Dylan" label, he is a pale imitation at best. As with all confessional music, the lyrics eventually begin to just sound like prolonged whining, and without strong words, poetry, and images to sustain the momentum, the songs drown under the pressure of introspective resentment. After awhile, for someone not going through similar emotional problems, the album simply stops being an enjoyable listen.

Which is not to say that this album is not intriguing or without it benefits. Much like the strongest songs on the White Stripes' White Blood Cells, the amateurish punk/country songs by Bright Eyes resonate well. Songs such as "Make War" and "You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will" showcase an innate talent for country rhythms and vocals, with great musical composition. When Oberst and his band lose their flair for the dramatic and melancholy and instead play like they are in a bar, their music takes off. "Nothing Gets Crossed Out" is a great song with infectious melody, making it one of the best tracks. The last song "Lets not Shit Ourselves (To Love and Be Loved)" is a ten minute opus attacking everything from music critics to a "cowboy president," and provides a quality, upbeat ending.

One thing is for certain, and that is that Oberst's earnest approach and resolve cannot be questioned. The album hangs dangerously close to being too pretentious and over the top, with songs and titles too long and too in depth.

As he matures as a songwriter, he will have to learn that being too ambitious is sometimes as harmful as having no ambition. Not all five-minute pop songs are souless and not all eight minute, rambling poems are artistically genuine.

There is a balance that has be reached somewhere down the line. Interesting territory is traveled here- "Lover I Don't Have to Love" is a decent dark rock song, and "False Advertising" is practically a waltz, showing shades of Tom Waits. The problem for Oberst is not one of ability- its one of focus.

But at the end of the day, what do critics know? Oberst signs in the finale that "I do not read the reviews/ no I am not singing for you". He's singing for the dispossessed and angry, the high school kids who can never seem to form functional relationships. And if the end this music provides them comfort, perhaps that is all Oberst has to be.

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