There's a whole spectrum of things to chew on with James Yuill material. The English songwriter makes these electronic rave-ups one second and then these acoustic folk songs the next second and you stop yourself right in the middle there, right before dropping acid, wondering if you should carry through with the plan or just get an expensive bottle of wine and ruminate on everything a little more at home, where you're safer.
Okay, so it might not be exactly like that, but he causes you to reevaluate exactly what it is he's doing. You can't quite place where the motives are other than just in the mode of reinvention, of lifting oneself out of any normal or standard emotions and taking them on a midnight chase through the wet streets and the seedier clubs, only to wind up back home, in a pretty decent place to bed down for the night, maybe even with someone to bed down with.
He plays with insecurities and shaky personalities in the way that a straight-shooter would. He offers his insight and what amounts to advice, all the while knowing that he's in no shape to do such a thing. He jumps at shadows, always believing something's rounding up behind him, out to get him. His protagonists are surely always anxious, feeling that they might be critical, but they're only that way because they can see so much of those failings in themselves. There are summer hearts to change and there are fears to address, but when they're pointing fingers, three of them are coincidentally pointing right back at them. His people have their peccadillos that they're hyper-aware of and they're all dealing with them together.