Once prolific, Idaho singer/songwriter Jeff Martin all but disappeared on us, working instead in the equally creative field of TV, movie, and documentary soundtracks, to which his vision is singularly suited. This strangely titled eighth LP is his first since 2005’s more experimental, half-instrumental, keyboards-entranced, almost Eno-esque The Lone Gunman, and only his second since 2001’s more regular Levitate. Perhaps the 2008 reissue of his 1997-1998 efforts working with former foil Dan Seta— Alas and The Forbidden EP on one CD—rejuvenated his interest in Idaho, as Dick picks up the thread of that period’s tracks such as “Only in the Desert” and “Bass Crawl.” It’s a mellow, misty-roses-beautiful piece of work, atmospheric like the weather right after it finishes raining. That’s not atypical for Martin, especially since Idaho the band became his sole preoccupation, a refined evolution from founding slowcore/sadcore days as L.A.’s answer to Red House Painters, American Music Club, and Low. His acoustic and custom four-string guitars’ unique tonal qualities assert themselves in subtle fashions, such as on a fuzzy instrumental “Impaler” (ah, classic mid ‘90s Idaho!), the more drums-centered “Up the Hill” and the up-tempo buzz of “The Space Between,” while several others like “Reminder” and “Someone to Relate To” are his sweetly sad piano meditations in the Neil Young “Soldier” mode—his low, trembling, sighing voice filling in the melodic movements. It’s music to accompany crossing the Mojave Desert, and outside of Wheat’s Medeiros and Husband & Wife’s Dark Dark Woods, no one else ever came close to Martin’s moist morning mood; and after so long gone, I’d forgotten how much I love it.