Thanks to a former stripper's little movie about a pregnant teen, the Moldy Peaches can now count Whoopi Goldberg and my 57-year-old mother amongst their fans. That's great news for erstwhile Peach Adam Green, who, with his fifth solo album, has finally created a collection that's ready for mass-consumption. The prolific, potty-mouthed former anti-folkie was an acquired taste back when he was singing naughty throwaways like, "Choke on a Cock", but following in the footsteps of Jacket Full of Danger's pretty (if slightly corny) soft-rockers, he offers more palatable, grown-up fare on Sixes & Sevens.

Green has long possessed a mature voice-even in his faux-naif, Robin-Hood-costume days, his resonant baritone was startlingly emotive-and, finally, his songs are worthy of his warm, velvety delivery. "Getting Led", for example, bolsters his buttery tones with the sweet levity of a gospel choir, showing off a developed croon that's as richly colored and evocative as Elvis'.

Thanks to legendary arranger David Campbell-- he's worked with fellow lounge-loving singer, Beck-- Green's often squirrelly songs are now filled out by swooning orchestrations of wistful pedal steel, soaring strings, and (as on "You Get So Lucky", his dusty, pan-Latin homage to Simon And Garfunkel's "El Condor Pasa") even some wily pan pipes. And though on previous albums, Green's ornate orchestrations often read as winking hipster re-imaginings of schmaltzy easy listening, the 70s radio that he and Campbell evoke here has a playlist that's part 60s hangover (wall-of-sound album opener "Festival Song"), part swaggering disco-funk ("Tweet Tweet Dee"), and part sax-fueled Bowie "plastic soul" ("Morning After Midnight"). Straddling a precarious line between "classic" and "cheesy," Green sounds most assured and comfortable against those sorts of vintage arrangements.

But listeners looking for lyrical meaning will still be disappointed, searching in vain for hidden significance in these nonsensical love song lines. (Though Green insists his prose isn't the product of any cut-and-paste or stream-of-consciousness method, with lines like, "I finally grew a leg in Thailand/Marauding on a typhus flu," they might as well be.) A word of advice: It's best to just accept his words as conduits for his dreamy voice, and give in to his charming tunes. The best ones-- like "Tropical Island" (which is, strangely, about smoggy Los Angeles) and "Be My Man", an acoustic country-folk riff on "Sweet Jane"-- are built on such appealing pop melodies that their lyrics feel unimportant anyway.

They aren't all winners though. "That Sounds Like a Pony" features the kind of rhythm-driven, unfunny "rapping" that the Peaches did back in the day on "D.2 Boyfriend", and the gimmick was already moldy then. And the vaudevillian Leon Redbone paean "Grandma Shirley And Papa" feels like a half-hearted genre exercise in the company of the album's more straightforwardly pretty songs. But in an era where a 10-song record is basically one or two iTunes-ready singles cushioned by some extraneous fat, this ambitious 20-song opus is, percentage-wise, a success.

Reinvention isn't easy, especially when your past work is newly popular. But Adam Green has managed it, embracing sincerity and musical extravagance in a way that "Anyone Else But You" never intimated was possible. Whoopi and my mom will be pleased.