Edwyn Collins' indefatigably eccentric recording career began in 1980 with "Falling and Laughing", Orange Juice's debut single for Glasgow's Postcard label. It was a giddy, ramshackle joyride of a song, and with its willingness to find amusement in infatuation and consolation in wit-- at the precise moment that Joy Division were approaching their spectacular dead end-- it may even have been a tipping point for British pop after punk.

Over a quarter of a century later Collins returns with his sixth solo album, and a closing track that might as well have been called "Falling and Crying". On the face of it, Home Again fits right into one the 21st century's most unexpectedly rewarding genres: the post-punk Euro-soulboy midlife redemption record; to be filed alongside Scritti Politti's White Bread, Black Beer and Roddy Frame's Western Skies. Right on schedule (Collins' pop career has operated on the elliptical, cosmic timetable of an errant comet), 12 years after "A Girl Like You" and 24 years since "Rip It Up", it could even offer him his third proper hit single in "You'll Never Know (My Love)".

Like the original Euro-soulboy midlife redemption record-- Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy-- it begins midway in the journey of life, lost in the woods. "I'd ask for directions, but my memory is shot and full of holes," he sings on "Written in Stone". "But my recall's near perfection when compared to the condition of my soul." And like Dante (I hope to god I'm speaking allegorically), Edwyn Collins had to go through hell to get back on track.

Home Again was written and recorded in 2004-- just as Collins' critical stock was at a 20-year high, with Simon Reynolds borrowing an OJ title for his comprehensive post-punk survey Rip It Up and Start Again, and the release of the definitive The Glasgow School compilation. It was mixed in 2006. In the year in between, Collins suffered two cerebral hemorrhages and an equally threatening bout of the hospital "superbug" MRSA. Even after he was discharged, he and his family were encouraged to try and "live within the limitations."

Consequently, it's impossible to review the album with a dry eye, or without hearing an ominous subtext to every song. In a year when we've already lost Lee Hazlewood and Tony Wilson (and I wonder whether Collins isn't spiritually a kind of missing link between the two), it's tempting just to be grateful that he's still with us. And though it's not a perfect record, and a couple of tunes feel like sketches that have still to be properly realized, Home Again is nevertheless undeniably one of the most affecting records of the year.

Opening track "One Is a Lonely Number" is a spooky ode to failing better in an indifferent world: "If life breaks your heart, you needn't fall apart, cos you've still got your mind..." Collins sings, his croon cracked with unusually direct sincerity. It's driven by banjo and sitar, swathed in spooky harmonies and Theremin, in that Joe Meek-goes-plastic-soul style he perfected on 1994's Gorgeous George. As such it's untypical of the album. Because though "You'll Never Know (My Love)" is a chill, autumn breeze take on the Isley Brothers, Home Again is mostly an odd kind of folk record.

"It's in Your Heart" and "Liberteenage Rag" have the acoustic lilt of Collin's childhood pop idol, Donovan, and strike a note of nostalgia for the Scotland of his youth. And the eerie, foreboding "Leviathan", all troubled seas and furious skies, seems to hark further back, to the folk revival of the 1950s and 60s and corny but effective groups like the Corries. The title track walks a similar line with heart-breaking results. A simple, delicate acoustic ballad, in a certain light you could almost mistake it for a rueful Jim Reeves song all about straying, betraying, and belatedly coming to your senses.

I interviewed Collins at his home in west London a couple of weeks ago, and though his recovery has exceeded all expectations, he was still frustrated with getting his words to work as fluently as they once did. A lot of the time he was happier singing to me: because of the structure of brain injuries, people recovering from strokes can often sing sentences impeccably they might have trouble simply speaking. So he started crooning "Home Again", over a cup of coffee and some fig rolls. Once started, he soon realized he was having too much fun to stop. "Outside on the street, I heard somebody singing/ And I heard the music ringing/ Rrom some clapped-out pirate station/ It was my unholy salvation." At the end he burst out laughing. "I've still got it, haven't I?" And you know what? He really does.