Leave it to to bridge the gap between covers and concept albums. is both. Its track list reveals iconic '60s-era pop songs of astonishing variety. There's 's "Blue on Blue" and 's "The Shadow of Your Smile," as well as 's "From the Underworld," a gorgeous, daring read of ' "Still I'm Sad," and 's "Not for Me," to mention a few. and his chief collaborator, British composer, arranger, and saxophonist (who wrote the set's "Overture" and "Interlude," and co-wrote the closer "No One to Say Good Night To" with the singer), used a guiding aural aesthetic in opting for expansive panoramic sound; they sought to emulate "a very late 1960s Italian cinema soundtrack...." Conceptually, the album begins and ends in a luxury apartment; its protagonist surrounded by objects of art and beauty but emotionally empty. He's alone throughout. As the lyric in the closing track states: "...I'm rich in the bank but the poorest person you know." Musically, this deep dive into '60s-era mood music, with its lush strings, lilting and twanging guitars, muted brass, and imaginative percussion, sounds timeless. imbues these songs without a trace of nostalgia or irony. The orchestrations are complex and imaginative, and reinforce the notion of isolation, loneliness, and the desire for intimate connection. After the relatively restrained "Overture," the listener is jolted for a moment by the jaunty yet somehow forlorn use of harpsichord in the reading of 's title track. sticks close to its melody, but puts his indelible handprint on it through his phrasing, which both illuminates and deepens the lyrics. The reading of 's "I Know You Love Me Not" possesses the aching drama 's mid-'60s material did, as well as evoking 's sense of indictment -- -esque guitars and all. The set's first single is a reading of the ' "How Can I Be Sure." This version, like the original, is innocent, but this blue-eyed soul can't help but make its question existential. It's followed by 's "Something Bad on My Mind," where its teen pleading is replaced by a heartbreak and disbelief so profound it breaks free of the boundaries in its lyrics. The Baroque string charts in "From the Underworld" are bridged to electric guitars and drums by no more -- and certainly no less -- than the passion and pathos in 's singing -- as if he knew what its writer ( ) was predicting all along. Finally, his versions of the and tunes smoke, smolder, and burn, earning their place in the hierarchy of interpretations. At the age 60, delivers with absolute commitment. On its surface, it is an exotic encounter with the sound of another era, but this is not merely an homage, but a work of tremendous musical vision and emotional depth. ~ Thom Jurek