Mostly staying low in the mix, the shimmers and squalls of manipulated feedback coursing throughout These Ghosts act like an ongoing commentary on the forlorn tableaux sung by someone who could claim victory in a Tom Petty impersonation competition. With gentle melodies signaling the sort of melancholy self-reflection that made Laurel Canyon a singer-songwriter sweet spot, the elements of the Milwaukee artist’s album mingle curiously: siren songs of a man working through his misery, half wanting to agonize in solitude, half inviting the inquisitive emotional voyeur willing to take in his despairing journeys. Since he makes his music for public consumption, there’s no surprise which half wins.
