The ubiquity of the iPod and ease of file-sharing have encouraged the development of catholic tastes, something that holds true for musicians and non-playing fans alike: Bands can rapidly consume and digest a host of diverse influences, dipping a toe in all manner of genres before deciding what should be emulated, synthesized, or scrapped. And should the recorded results convey a multiplicity of sounds, audiences are ever-likelier to respond with shuffle-minded tolerance rather than accusations of artistic schizophrenia.

In another era, the shifts and leaps throughout Brought to You by Nebraskafish, the debut album from Omaha-based Capgun Coup, likely would have taken place over the course of several records. Instead, this document of three scant years of existence and two of songwriting represents a warp-speed compression of evolving sonic guideposts and changing aesthetic concerns, encompassing under its restless banner the rarely-reconciled likes of indie-folk, sound collage, politicized punk, and streamlined guitar pop.

Debut albums are often scattershot affairs, but Nebraskafish exhibits all the focus of one of those ground spinners you set off on the 4th of July. The press materials emphasize Capgun's lack of a broad rock-knowledge base ("not the most well-versed students of rock music," says the first sentence of the one-sheet), which almost feels like an attempt to discourage a reading of the group as willfully haphazard collector geeks, painting them rather as a bunch of earnest kids joyfully flitting around from one exciting new musical ethos to the next.

To be fair, a good chunk of the record falls within the confines of the hysterical-voiced ramshackle indie-pop proffered by the likes of the Unicorns, Phosphorescent, and Neutral Milk Hotel. Capgun don't yet convey nearly the emotional resonance of these acts, but they almost make up for it with an irreverent sense of humor (tossed off lines like "beat you good-night" on "Elephant of Surprise" and "oh my God he's got the phattest ride" on "Social Security Number"), as well a fondness for sex talk (the giddily lustful "Adorable Doorsteps" and self-explanatory "Blood, Sweat and Sex"). Admirable in intent but regrettable in execution, the band also occasionally tries to inject this formula with punk-blur rhythms ("Huck Finn") and political fervor ("Uh Huh"), despite lacking adequate command of either discipline.

Luckily, Capgun Coup's sonic nomadism pays off in plenty of other places. Folk and even countryish digressions bring them a measure of success on "Oh My Mod" and "Bobby Chops and the Do-Gooders", but it's the full-on pop immersions "Fucked" and "My Tears Cure Cancer" that truly steal the show. Evincing a superbly tight tunefulness on these songs, Capgun evoke the likes of Weezer and the Beatles, and the momentary focus on more conventional songwriting sounds more powerful surrounded by ragged loose ends and unhinged expression.

Subsequent records are likely to find Capgun Coup winnowing their source material and concentrating their artistic reach. Perhaps we'll see these precocious grab-baggers absorbing their pop, punk, and folk lessons into something more sonically seamless rather than simply abandoning them altogether.