Bleecker Station

Although Greg Weeks records on four-track, the sound quality is so good that you start looking around the room for his lanky, rail-thin frame, pallid face, and searching eyes, acoustic in hand. His soft but enormously expressive voice is well suited for the confessional-hushed music he confronts you with. Yes, "confronts": This is not some make-nice folky preciousness to put on and forget. A large-scale improvement on his previous Fire in the Arms of the Sun, Weeks' voice and writing have become as mysterious and unearthly as the old prototypes he venerates, like Nick Drake and early Tim Buckley. See if the achromatic passages of austere sound, affecting songs, and immensely intimate presentation aren't worthy of favor.