This super-idiosyncratic Sri Lankan from St. Louis sings soul-folk through a congested nose; his rhythms absorb Paul Simon's Afro-Caribbean influence less clinically than, say, Vampire Weekend's do. But his high-IQ verbosity is where it's at: Brecht-to-hillbilly-to-talking-blues-infused songs about hopping trains, fuzzy-math accounting, broken atlatls (look it up), murder from O.J.'s perspective, kimchee pickers just north of Korea's DMZ, and a fugitive ballerina who sends her kid to school at Walmart. That last one recited to the tune of "Jackson," with a personal message to Bocephus. Whew.