Another Spottiswoode album with the old gang. Riley McMahon produces. Same old, same old.

So, yes, another spectacular outing. I was ready to write those words even without hearing the album, as I've been listening to Jonathan Spottiswoode for a couple of decades now. His voice remains an astonishing balance between gravelly and supple, and his knack for the uplifting elegy and snarky anthem has only strengthened.

Spottiswoode & His Enemies Lost in the City (self-released)

What separates Spottiswoode from obvious influences like Randy Newman or Tom Waits is his devotion to the concept of a band. He writes songs that show off his mates, and so the sound is more inclusive. I'm not saying he's better (or worse) than those luminaries, but he is different.

If you are unfamiliar, imagine a lounge act with more electricity than a substation. Spottiswoode is the master of the louche ripper, maintaining a mellow groove while absolutely blistering a song. I suppose a first-time listener might imagine she has heard this all before. But thirty seconds in, a sense of wonder begins to germinate.

That sense hasn't left me since I heard Ugly Love twenty years ago. It remains astonishing to me how much ground Spottiswoode has travelled, even though that album is totally recognizable (if somewhat more primitive) today. I've been writing Aiding & Abetting for 27 years. I'm glad to have had a fellow traveler like Spottiswoode. Here's to another 20 years of great music.

Jon Worley