Joshua English, Kill For Sport

When “Promised Land State Park,” the first track on Kill For Sport, kicks in, with its fey keys, understated guitars, and brisk drumming, the album seems to be headed straight for Teenage Fanclub/Belle and Sebastian-esque pastoral pop. It’s a feint, though, made apparent when Joshua English’s vocals come in, rambling and meandering through a lovelorn road song; English is pop, to be sure, but his songsmithing is far, far more Elvis Costello or Lloyd Cole than Brian Wilson.

In spite of the tats and ironic-hipster shirts, there’s a heavy coffeehouse vibe here, and English demonstrates that that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The songs on Kill For Sport are warm and comfortable, as easy to slip into as a pair of well-worn shoes, with an echoey empty-stage sound that makes it difficult not to picture the guy sitting on a chair with his guitar, lit by a single spotlight while an unseen cohort plays piano off in the darkness. His voice has an ease to it, too, a self-assured worldweariness made more impressive by his fast-paced delivery.

Then there’s the lyrics, all just-shy-of-too-clever wordplay and deft imagery, and the resemblance to Costello, Cole, and, hell, Michael Penn gets hammered tightly home. English’s former band Six Going on Seven were essentially a power-pop band at their collective heart, and now that the engine of that machine’s left the shed to go out on his own, he’s fully embraced the singer/songwriter thing. These songs are smart, they’re seemingly aware of their roots, and they’ve each got a funny little smile on their face as they stroll on by.

Admittedly, the downside to English’s sound is that in its utterly friendly, unthreatening-ness, it skirts Adult Contemporary at times. When that happens, though (see “Bested” and “Junk Science,” for two that ride the line), he crashes back in with something else, like the Hold Steady-esque testifying and organ-driven sound of “Get It Where I’m Going” or the blazing power pop hookiness of “Morning After The Night Before” (which has got to be one of the cheeriest songs about the death of a family member, by the by).

Stepping back for a look at the whole thing, Kill For Sport stands as proof of English’s skill — he slips and ducks through motifs like he’s changing t-shirts, sounding like a well-honed master posing in punk rock clothing. He throws off gorgeously heartwrenchingly stuff like “In Hospitals,” the how-did-he-do-that-so-quickly? flash of “Dulcinea del Toboso,” or the propulsive country kiss-off “Tall, Tall Tree,” songs most folks would struggle with for years, like he’s done it all his life and can keep doing it for the duration. Here’s hoping he does.