And that's the last whining you'll read here, because on those four songs Mott displays a growing songwriting sophistication and a divine sense of vocal control. She has always sounded pretty—she could read court transcripts and make them sound like buttery dreams—but she's honed her sense of timing, pacing, and florid moments, making an already distinctive instrument even more alluring. Take "Cars and Jobs and Daytrips," a countryish—the entire album belies a honky-tonk attitude that Mott and the band tweak into their own folky pop, as the Elephant 6 bands did for so many years or the way Pavement did on "Easily Fooled"—dirge shot through with a levitating bloom of a chorus. A sleepy-time guitar line, drum beat, and organ weep underscores Mott's stroll through her verses, which quick sketch moments of fleeting time, before she gets to the a stomping two-line chorus that ends "but I can't put to music my paycheck or the drive." Mott stretches out that final long "i" into an at first bubbly high note that eventually ends in a resigned sigh, echoing the vocal approach she uses for the first word of each line in the song's verses, creating vocal frames for he lyrical imagery.