Go to bed, and in the morning it'll be OK

Damien Jurado is a big man, something like a retired offensive lineman. Hearing such a wee voice and painful tales come from such an obvious oddity makes me want to give the guy a hug. In return, his latest unassuming album turns around and gives me a pat on the back, as if to say, "You think you've got it bad…" His voice, a slowly drawled falsetto, tries to be Neil Young, but lacks the edge and the vision of the unfortunate godfather to this post-grunge (zits and all) confessional songwriting movement. Jurado's another one of those indie fellows who's happy when no one's looking, but tickled when somebody cares. His stories of misfits and eccentrics, though slightly amusing and charismatic, fail to be transcendent mostly because they're so quiet. Bands who pull off quiet are also evocative, but Jurado is simply tedious. Where Shall You Take Me? sounds as if the non-existent beat should be filled by tears hitting his pillows and bedroom floor. For example, in a song like "I Can't Get Over You," Jurado fills the space of three minutes with weak melismas and variations on the title phrase. Jurado is filling space, but he's easy to miss.