's voice is somewhere on a line that connects to , and the only other solo artist possessed with the kind of boundless, restless creative energy to write, play, produce, and design everything he releases is . Despite these factors, has managed to develop his own odd personality while also avoiding the pitfalls that come with being labeled a throwback. (Besides, would put a wigged dog on one of his album covers? Probably not.) He doesn't fit with the latest new- revival, and he doesn't like to whine, yet he's just as modern-sounding and contemporary as any of his peers. On , he makes good on the promise shown on his debut. No longer happily adding layer upon unnecessary layer of instrumentation to his songs, he has learned the value of directness that comes with knowing when to put a cap on a song and let it slide without the extra blurt of kazoo. That directness has carried over to the lyrics; the only character in most of these songs is the guy who wrote them. Melody still plays a major role, though the listener isn't beaten over the head with it. A good balance is struck between breezily flowing acoustic songs and hyperkinetic blasts of . 's wise abandonment of the kitchen-sink approach would've benefited this album even more if he had kept the running time below 45 minutes or so; at an hour, some of its nuances are bound to be lost in the shuffle. This prime songwriter is too anxious to purge his backlog, but too much is definitely preferable to not enough. (On second thought, it's entirely possible that might one day place a wigged dog on a record cover.) ~ Andy Kellman