Late breaking news from The Globe: "John Vanderslice is known for playing jokes. In his former band, MK Ultra, he attempted to convince people with their 1996 sophomore release, Actual Motion Picture Soundtrack, that the record was a real soundtrack for a yet-to-be released independent film. With his song "Bill Gates Must Die," from his solo debut, 2000's Mass Suicide Occult Figurines, he wrote up a fake summons from Microsoft's legal department and got into the papers pretending to be sued by the monopoly (sorry, guys) for the song's content.

"But now, his greatest hoax of all has finally hit the record shelves. Time Travel is Lonely may have been released under the name John Vanderslice, and it may sound like John Vanderslice, but the fact is that Vanderslice had no part in the making of the record! ...For the vocal tracks this time around, Vanderslice's engineering team of John Croslin and Scott Solter used Skywalker Sound in Los Angeles instead of the humble facilities of Tiny Telephone in San Francisco, his usual analog studio. At Skywalker, they created a digital amalgamation between Jeremy Enigk and Katherine Hepburn to recreate his heavily affected singing style. 'We scanned their pronunciation patterns, then used Pro Tools to slow it down,' said Croslin. 'It was like a pitch-perfect Vanderslice. I'm still amazed by how lifelike it sounds.' ...Vanderslice could not be reached for comment, but a source confirms that he's on an isolated retreat to Antarctica..."

John Vanderslice's first album, Mass Suicide Occult Figurines, was not exactly an exercise in cohesion. The songs jumped from acoustic balladry to power alt-rock, from lo-fi synth-pop to chamber-string melancholy within the course of less than 30 minutes, with no element to tie them together. The songs were great, but they didn't make much of a whole. On Time Travel is Lonely, the thematic, cohesive side of solo John Vanderslice finally shows itself. The record kicks off with "You Were My Fiji," the first song Vanderslice recorded after the release of his debut. The song features Jeff Mangum-esque wailing and lo-fi acoustic guitars, but with a percussive, upbeat tempo and efficiency that's decidedly un-Neutral Milk Hotel. From there, it takes off into a record full of similarly bittersweet, remorseful pop songs, and this time, it sounds like they were all born to be on the same record together.

Vanderslice is clearly enthused about the recording process, and he's involved every step of the way. Like his debut, Time Travel is Lonely was committed to tape in his own Tiny Telephone analog studios in San Francisco with the help of engineers Scott Solter and John Croslin. The new album is also more fully deserving of "solo record" status; although it does feature supporting players (on electric guitar, bass and drums), the majority of the record was played by Vanderslice himself. As the basis of his songs, he provides acoustic guitar, Moogs and mellotrons, along with the occasional Rhythm Ace drum machine track and quirky sound effect.

He may be a singer/songwriter, but he seems to be more in the game simply for the pure love of sound, taking it from all sources. On one hand, he samples various materials for the record's three interludes-- two of them being classical recordings-- adapting and layering upon them as if they were his own. "Interlude 2," which puzzlingly comes later in the record than "Interlude 3," uses a harpsichord recording of Bach's "Preludium Fugue #7" and adds warped delay, switched-on synth accompaniment, and a self-tracked choir for a fantastically eerie effect. On another hand, for the rocking title track, he samples the sound of a camera flash recharging and loops it to add punch to the power-pop chorus. The source of the effect is offbeat, but the sound is genuinely effective.

On Time Travel is Lonely, he explores lyrical concepts of isolation, remembrance and loss. The melodies generally maintain an optimistic major key, and the spacy interludes instrumentally support what the lyrics represent. Nostalgia is a key theme here, with different facets. Some of the songs tell of lost relationships, deaths, and childhood, while some take their tales directly from literary sources. "Little Boy Lost" and "If I Live or If I Die" update somber poetry by William Blake and set them to catchy pop songs. The latter proves to be more effective, and one of the standout tracks on the record. Vanderslice sings Blake's humanist tale of the accidental death of a fly to poppy, staccato piano chords, an arpeggiating Moog bassline and exuberant handclaps.

It seems, though, that Vanderslice wants Time Travel is Lonely to have more than just vague lyrical themes; he wants to take you to Antarctica. He wants you to experience the isolation from the real world that one experiences in a frigid wasteland. The packaging and liner notes prove the larger conceptual idea. The liner notes depict supposed letters from John's brother Jesse during many months living on "a floating, unstable ice shelf." Some of these letters seem to be the basis for the topics of some songs on the record; some others simply recall the feelings and events that would begin to cause "polar madness." None of them are real; for a bit of proof, lyrics that are attributed to Jesse in the letters are credited to John in the notes. But while these wouldn't be things one would guess from the non-specific theme of the lyrics, the overall concept does help it work.

In fact, it helps the feeling that the happiness of the melodies are only a device for comfort, to mask the insecurity and solitude that's finally beginning to reach me after so many listens. It's like Jesse writes in his lyrics to "Time Travel is Lonely": "No one has ever made it this far in time..." and it's painfully apparent when you're alone. The rock guitars, the bittersweet melodies, the soaring synths, and the soul-baring, primitive acoustic guitars are beautiful, but I'm starting to see the true message here. Behind Vanderslice's affected voice lies a pathos, whether it's genuine or not, whether it's real. In fact, there are very brief moments where he sounds so detached, so cold, that it's not hard to imagine the voice sort of existing outside of him, or not even coming from him.

-Spencer Owen