Almost every song on Will Oldham's latest album has a personal pronoun in its title — lots of "I" and "you." The unspecific lyrics are flatly whined in the manner of a depressed old codger falling asleep. Tempos stay sluggish and melodies meander, often parodying bygone rural music — funeral hymn here, waltz there. An array of hip Chicago instrumentalists approximates a Salvation Army band heard 300 yards down the shoreline. And on those rare occasions when Oldham gives them room, flutes or hand claps or pedal steel manage an energy that the singer himself can't be bothered with.