On his first release in two years, Matt Schickele shows us an artist at the top of his game. Over the course of twelve tracks, Schickele's music is confident, bold and always engaging. While all of the playing is solid, the real appeal here lies in Schickele's ability to strike a mood. Each song is self-sufficient and complete, so on a track-by-track level the disc is successful -- but a greater pleasure comes from listening to Cities Filled With Lights as a whole. At this level, it yields the same satisfaction as a great collection of short stories: individual pleasures are enhanced by unraveling the hidden threads that run through the seemingly separate units. Thus, while I can describe some of the delights of the individual tracks, you won't understand the true extent of the album's joys until you dissect it for yourself.

For starters, consider the opening track, "Above the Air". On this song, Schickele's guitar sounds like a set of chimes, imbuing the song with a festive, holiday feel. During the verses, the instrumentation is reduced to a minimum, with simple bass notes keeping time as the guitar gently jingles in the background. When the vocals are given this much breathing room, Schickele's subdued voice is almost overwhelmed by the sonic panorama surrounding it, making lyrical statements like "the city's awful" all the more brazen. This charming track makes a fine beginning by clueing listeners in to the subtleties they'll find in Schickele's deceptively simple tracks.

The merriment of the first track is contrasted by "Enemies Like Enemies". Here, Schickele strikes a weary march through harshly struck guitar strings and well-placed piano lines. Emphasizing the unpleasantness of the song's thrust, the vocals push into the falsetto as they call out "Enemies like enemies/ to fill in the pieces they skipped" -- which, by combining unadorned acoustic guitar with ominous military imagery, calls to mind The Wall-era Pink Floyd. "Maybe" is propelled by an uptempo, frantic guitar that is countered during the chorus by a sedated piano. On this number, Schickele's vocal line draws a favorable comparison to Mark Eitzel's poetic sound.

"Bodega" and "Split the Clouds" also stand out. The first track is the instrumental raving of a manic carnival piano, which abruptly settles into the comping base for the second song. During "Split the Clouds", Schickele again uses his courageous falsetto. This time, however, instead of John Waters, he reminds me of Chris Connelly's solo work, an image that is heightened by the harmonica solo.

Track by track, my appreciation for Schickele grows. By the time the disc reaches its closing title track, a broken-down folk number that offers the advice "cities filled with lights cannot offer it all", Schickele has completely broken free of his previous work with indie-rock outfit Beekeeper. What remains is a mature musician who has no difficulty in drawing others into his music -- and an hour of tunes that do exactly that.