The first thing you'll notice about Adam Elk's Labello is that the music all sounds familiar, even though you've probably never heard these songs in your life. It's one of those great classic first album recognition synergies; it sounds like these tunes have been around forever, but they're somehow just making it onto record now. That draws you initially into the record with ease, because it immediately feels comfortable.

What will keep you coming back to Labello is some great songwriting and a voice that manages to conjure about ten different comparisons at once. Elk sounds like many of the great male singers of the past two decades at one point or another--Elvis Costello and Tom Petty are the first that come to mind, but there's some Robert Plant in there too sometimes, and Paul McCartney too. Whoever he sounds like, he's got a thrilling set of pipes with some amazing versatility. One minute, his trill chops through the air like a chainsaw; the next, it eases into a gentle massaging lilt. Whether gliding over a sweet guitar riff or colliding with drummer Todd Roper's sinuous backbeat, it always sounds great.

Elk scores big in the songwriting department too, penning twelve pop ditties for Labello, mostly about the trials and tribulations of love. He's got an especially evocative way with words, sketching brief images that fly into your brain and linger for a while. At the same time, he's not a wordy writer, which makes his carefully-composed lines all the more distinctive. Check out these couplets from "Feeding A Jealous Mind": "You take his breath/Under your tongue/You make him deaf/You make him dumb/And all I can do is just watch you."

First, consider the duality of that moment; both men are just as powerless, and whether you're the guy losing your breath or the guy playing voyeur, you're not exactly in an ideal position. Then there's the powerlessness as expressed through the lyrics. It's more overt in the second set of lines, but it's just as apparent in the first set, and far more poetic--you can't see his breath vanishing into her mouth, but you know what it's like, because you've been there yourself.

Elk's economy of words makes for many moments that you should easily identify with, or at the very least, easily understand. When he sings on "Lease" of life as just a lease, one that will one day expire, it's impossible not to slip into his clever yet morbid mental groove. That versatile metaphor easily twists in the second stanza into musings on a lover's borrowed heart, just another example of Elk's deceptively simple yet smart songwriting.

Aside from Elk's astonishing vocal cords and savvy tunes, there's a real common vibe on Labello, a very seventies sound. There's a bit of a funk lilt on some tracks, and on others the balladry of Paul McCartney is evoked. All the pieces come together just right and make for a great hour's worth of listening. Our lives may just be a lease that we'll have to exit, but for my money, Adam Elk can buy out the whole damn music industry and keep it, as long as he keeps churning out records like this.