Dean Wareham

Although melancholy has always been Wareham's default musical disposition, here he delivers his sadness with a coy, charming half-smile.

Rather than continue down the line of slender, tender sonic shimmers, it bulges with galaxy-striding effects and country-tinged chimes. And, for that, it's a far richer, more hypnotic listen than its predecessor.

The album is a joyous, well-executed mish-mash rooted in crisp sounds, thanks to James' rock-centric production.

Given the dichotomy between Wareham’s dry, plainspoken demeanor and James’ shoot-for-the-stratosphere tendencies, this album is an epic of modest proportions, a Pocketbook Dean Wareham to go with your Portable Galaxie 500.

Wareham found his unhurried style and perfected it years ago; now it’s all about fine-tuning, and Dean Wareham feels more finely tuned than ever.

Ultimately, this is an album of wildly swinging emotions. For every glorious uplifting moment, there’s a lyrical barb or plainly expressed doubt to counteract it. 

Dean Wareham is an album that sees both of its key players growing in stature as it progresses; I could take or leave the first half, but the second is a delight.