Let me just preface this by saying how overjoyed Becky is to begin the Bright Eyes segment of this project. And let me follow that preface by admitting that it is a lie. Although she is loath to admit it, Becky sort of likes Bright Eyes. She mocks me constantly, but actually likes sad little Conor’s music. That said, I should admit that I really and truly love Bright Eyes. I found their music when I was a sad, sorry little college freshman and connected in a way that was only rivaled in its resonance by my first reading of The Perks of Being a Wallflower that same year. I know, I know, I’m a cliché. But my love of Bright Eyes has grown from its sad little roots to an appreciation of what Conor has done over the years that is bigger than my initial, guttural reaction to his morose drunken poetry. Now that you have the background, let’s move on to Lifted. It starts out just as most of Bright Eyes’ records do, with a long intro that sounds like it was accidentally recorded in someone’s car and a droning, too-long, overindulgent and slightly off-key song seemingly designed to deter non-fans from continuing with the record. If you can get past the nearly 9-minute long “The Big Picture” you can move on to where the album proper starts, with one of my favorite Bright Eyes songs, “Method Acting.” “Method Acting” is one of those songs I loved long ago that holds up now, with its upbeat tempo almost hiding Oberst’s sadness and the lyrics easily confused with a positive message. If you take a closer listen, you can see that it’s as sad as ever, but with the drums suggesting a marching band and the arrangement building and finally trailing off, you can almost imagine that this track is a little glimpse into near-happiness. Likewise with the following track, “False Advertising,” you get a staccato snare drum reminiscent of a marching band and a building and lurching arrangement of instruments that makes you feel like you might be at the world’s saddest band concert. In a good way, for the most part. Next up is "You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.," a track that I will (har har) admit makes me think immediately of my wife. I’m a boomerang, you see, and I did return to her. The sad-yet-determined lyrics paired with the booming sound of the full band (which at this point in Bright Eyes’ history had a tendency to be quite extensive) makes for a quick and fun yet typically sad Bright Eyes tune. There is a reason this album is a classic, and this song is part of that legacy. Ah, Side Two. It begins with one of the most Bright Eyes-est Bright Eyes songs ever. Drugs, sadness, empty sex and sado-masochistic overtones? It must be “Lover I Don’t Have to Love.” While this track may be overwrought and a little too on-message for Bright Eyes, it is a genius song. The organ works perfectly with the minimal guitars and you can just picture sad, handsome, bisexually-inclined Conor meeting some willowy indie rock boy after a show and having his drug-fueled way with him. If “Lover” is a little much for you, it’s followed up by almost genuinely cheery “Bowl of Oranges.” This song was, I think, the most commercially successful single on this album and I can see why that is. Not my favorite song, but I am a little sad-sack at heart so you can see why. “Don’t Know When But a Day Is Gonna Come” picks up where “Lover” left off, bringing warbling vocals to a bold, almost orchestral backing sound and sad, sad, lyrics. Sad and drunk are some key elements to the record and this track typifies both feelings. Moving on to Side Three, the highlight there is “Waste of Paint,” another self-indulgent march through various characters with various flaws, highlighting Oberst’s own feelings of a lack of meaning and self-worth. While the premise of the song is a little trying, the track itself is a good listen with the continuation of the large marching band sound present in much of the record. And finally the record ends mirroring its beginning, first with the barroom dirge “Laura Laurent” and then in the quick transition to a rollicking-yet-quite-lengthy track, “Let’s Not Shit Ourselves (To Love and to Be Loved)” and the obligatory trail-out to a weird spoken word segment that takes the full run time of the song to around ten minutes. Lyrical highlights include bits about whiskey and pills and daddy issues. Typical. And honestly, I don’t mean that in a bad way. This album typifies what early Bright Eyes was all about and still manages to be a great record. Now on to the rest of my Bright Eyes collection—I swear I’ll cut down on my word count from here on out.
