Pitchfork

Of all the records produced in Chicago in the late 90s, the Sea and Cake's were the comfiest. As for singer Sam Prekop's solo album, well: His was just the best. The people involved were the same guys as always-- O'Rourke, McEntire, Taylor, Abrams, Mazurek-- but something about Prekop made all the difference. Part of it was his hushed, husky "soul" singing, still the perfect accompaniment to that Chicago-style fake bossa nova. But the bulk of it was just the quiet lull of the thing-- the way half of its tracks laid back into spare, comfy sounds and let them drift along. Which made it a little strange to anticipate this album: How do you follow up something that seemed so much like a happy accident, or a gorgeous, quiet side-note?

Because with this set, Prekop's putting a lot more into it: There are more "proper" songs and less airy instrumental pieces, and in spots those laid-back soul inclinations bloom into something you could stretch toward calling funky. What stays true, though, is that sound-- soft, simple, and natural, the surprisingly un-slick tones of raw instruments in a big room. It has a little do with Jim O'Rourke's "pop" records (Eureka, Halfway to a Threeway), and a little to do with the Sea and Cake, but neither reference quite gets the particulars: What Prekop's playing is some form of half-jazzy bossa nova soul, some elegant laid-back concoction that's part beach and part dinner party. The rhythm section skips along in a loose shuffle, Prekop touches softly at his guitar in that electric bossa style, and his breathy croon winds the melody in and out of the occasional low swell of horns. The results can range from blissfully cushy to outright grand, thanks to their impeccable composition.

Forget the details: The sheer comfort of this stuff can charm just about anyone, from the rock bar to the office to your grandma's house. The timing couldn't be better, either, because it's difficult to separate the sound from the city. In L.A., you can get this kind of sunset white-guy soul any time; in Chicago, spring really means something, and there's no better use for this music than getting massively chilled-out in your big, suddenly-sunny apartment. Better still, this is anything but mood music: Prekop is a songwriter to be reckoned with, and the dynamics and arrangements on this disc have a depth that keeps luring you further in. Just like bossa nova-- its hot-bath laziness and lively, complex instrumental interplay, both somehow occupying the exact same space.

So I keep listening, and sorting through all that graceful composition, and dreaming of biking up Ashland in June. Up until now, Prekop's solo work has been the side-note in the Sea and Cake diaspora, that one album flying well below the radar of Archer Prewitt's singer-songwriter career. Hopefully this set will change that: Prewitt may be cuter, but Prekop's sound is the real marvel.