If Kirk Lake is a master of anything, it's apathy. With a voice like Elliott Smith's, sans the nasality, Lake drifts along his eponymous third album never seeming any more, or less, than nonplussed. Nothing shocking there, due to the largely unsentimental nature of indie rock that often lapses into the sphere of indie singer/songwriters. When done well in the latter sphere, we get people like Liz Phair whose apathetic voice made the urgent Exile in Guyville deliciously ironic.

Apathy at its worst, though, taints potentially engaging music with the feeling that nothing's at stake. That, precisely, is the problem with Kirk Lake. Lake's vocals are drowsy at best, and mumbled over morose, largely acoustic, folky Brit-pop. Such an approach might be effective if it gave way to an air of tension, with the unsentimental vocals being at direct odds with the musical melancholia. That's not the case here, though; dullness usurps any edginess that emerges from the discord.

It's a bit of a shame, too, because Lake seems to have some good ideas. The opener, "I'll Take It as Read," is an accessibly dark bit of bossa-folk made epic with low, off-rhythm drums which spice up the main drum track. Similarly, "Morphology" sports a pattern of live drums for three beats that skitter into electronic hyper-breaks only to return to live in a matter of seconds. It's Squarepusher meets Timbaland, an idea that seems even more inventive under the song's electric folk foundation. Musically, the song is ace, but there's temptation not to pay attention to what Lake is whispering about.

When attention is paid to Lake's lyrics, though, the biggest problems with his LP arise. In "Morphology," Lake seems to have some sort of eco-centric message when he pronounces "evolution" Lennon-style (that's "evil-lution," for those of you following along at home) in the lines: "First fish with lungs/ First lizard with wings/ Evolution sends you down extinction's path/ Move one step forward, five steps back." Fortunately, this message is rendered largely unnoticeable thanks to the song's sloppy, oblique execution. Additionally, for every great line or image that Lake strikes ("When the carousel takes you from me/ It brings you back") he strays his credibility with a following, odious cliché ("And I hope your smile will never fade").

At his lyrical worst, Kirk Lake comes off as self-indulgent. "Everyday Lingers" gives us literary device upon literary device, reveling in hyperbole and metaphor. "We were so broke, we didn't have a coin to flip" is about as humorous and sincere as he gets, though he seems particularly proud of the limp imagery of, "Every day lingered like a bad tattoo," since he repeats it throughout the song.

Kirk Lake isn't a horrible album. It's not jarring, it's not exciting, it's not fresh; it merely exists, and is often just pleasant enough to be passable. It's the stuff background music is made of, since the less you hear of it, the more interesting it sounds. Sadly, an intense and in-depth listen betrays the album as conventional and dull.

On the Belle and Sebastian-esque "A Beautiful Ending," Lake sings, "I'm always against more than I'm for." I'm unwilling to accept this as a personal platitude, but as far as my feelings for his album goes, I relate to these words on the most visceral level possible.

-Richard M. Juzwiak