One of the great pleasures of writing about music for 35 years is the people you encounter. For every heroin addict who won't quit bitching that you didn't like their album enough, there are ten earnest artists who appreciate having the opportunity to do what they love, no matter if it makes money or not.

Spottiswoode It Wasn't in the Script (self-released)

I've been writing about Jonathan Spottiswoode's music (including at least one album where he didn't perform but simply wrote the songs) for nearly 30 years. In these electronic days, they arrive and precipitate a short email exchange. We both marvel that we're still around doing what we do. This time, Spott warned me about his new album. "It has a different sound, so it may take a while getting used to." Music to my ears, I told him.

If you know Spottiwoode and the world of music that he has created over the years, the connective tissue is the songs that say a lot more than the words within. This album is a mediation on fatherhood: its wonders, mysteries and fears. He's got his young daughter Sophie singing in the background (and occasionally foreground) on most of the songs. And His Enemies provide a rich table setting for his trademark expressive rasp.

What's different? These songs are intensely personal. That has to be a frightening experience for Spottiswoode, who specializes in writing songs in the voices of a thousand characters. This time, the character is him. The musical settings are occasionally more spare, and maybe he's leaning into the English folk'n'soul bag a bit more, but this remains another Spott on album.

In turning the spotlight on himself, Spottiswoode faces his own shortcomings, desires, dreads and amazement. And while it may not be quite as bright and brassy as some of his more recent albums, there are just as many wry observations about life and the crazy people that wander by. It's just that this time there is no "other". Just Spott and his world. His life. His family. He's put it all out there.

And while it's clear he's in a good place, this album had to be a terrifying leap (as he kinda noted in his email). No worries: The landing is solid. And clearly (thankfully), this is no elegiac goodbye. One of the joys of parenthood is that every morning brings renewed promise. And in this case, I believe that means more Spottiswoode--when he finds the time. It's obvious that inspiration is not in short supply.

Jon Worley