If you don't know who David Pajo is, that's unfortunately not surprising. Probably more than anyone else, he's responsible for the explosion of post-rock over the past few years, mainly due to his work with boundary-breaking groups Slint and Tortoise. You might also know him as one of Billy Corgan's glorified session musicians in the ill-advised group Zwan, a collaboration that ended spectacularly badly, and which seems to be the polar musical opposite of the music presented here, on his new solo album.

Because while "Mary Star of the Sea" emphasised bright, loud, old-fashioned guitar pop, "Pajo" instead opts for gentle, delicate, mostly acoustic songs with just a dash of electronica thrown into the mix. The actual method of how this music was made (thrown together with some cheapo software that Pajo got on his new laptop, with collaborators from the Internet), isn't really as important as the way that not only does this represent yet another refinement of his sound from the Papa M days, but the fact that he creates some pure, beautiful songs while he does it.

This might sound a little strange, given the fact that he's best known for being in a band that stripped the melody and hooks out of rock music, and reduced it to its raw, textured essence, but songs like the airy, upbeat High Lonesome Moan show that Pajo has a knack for a beautiful melody. It's a good thing, because true to his past releases, Pajo shows that he's a mediocre singer at best, and his guitarwork, while it meets the standard, is nothing special. The only real weapons that Pajo has at his disposal are his seemingly unlimited resourcefulness, and the fact that he can write a great song, and he uses them with devastating effect.

Unlike on previous Pajo-led albums, which were usually largely or completely instrumental, every one of these songs has lyrics. They range in tone and style from the gentle, fingerpicked The Manson Twins, to the almost rocking Baby Please Come Home (slightly reminiscent of Neutral Milk Hotel), to the quiet and subdued Mary of the Wild Moor. The real stunner on this album though, is the final track, entitled Frenchie. It dispenses with the lo-fi easy listening format, and brings the darker moments of Slint to mind, complete with the vaguely threatening, but very sparse instrumentation, and spoken-word lyrics. It's a great closer to the album, and the only song here that really fits the dreary coverart.

Probably the only thing shocking about this album is the fact that it's not really that shocking at all. The production is absolute rubbish, which is a natural consequence of the deliberately lo-fi way in which the album was put together, but it's not so bad that it detracts from the music. If you're a fan of Neutral Milk Hotel, James Iha's solo work, or even classic Simon and Garfunkel or Neil Young, this album should prove to be a worthy addition to your collection.