David Pajo's 2003 and 2004 singles series (released under his Papa M moniker) blended improvisation with frailty. They explored songwriting as a way of personal confrontation -- in other words, things like Two and Five seemed like they were supposed to be closed off, like the listener was peering into Pajo's self-therapy session. There were flashes of grace, a sort-of folk, even whimsy. But those releases (as well as parts of 2004's Hole of Burning Alms) still drew mostly from post-rock's insularity. In contrast, Pajo's self-titled project for Drag City comforts, just as a warm meal or sea wind would. From its luscious black-and-white photography to the gentle, unaffected quality of its music, Pajo offers free getaways on the crystal ship. The set was deliberately recorded with only voice, (mostly) acoustic guitars, and the limited software available on Pajo's computer. The approach gives songs like "Oh No No" and "Icicles" an immediacy comparable to Smog's early work. Of course, where Bill Callahan's voice was often one of apathy, Pajo sings in an assured whisper -- he's imparting secrets only to you. He picks out a twinkling melody for "High Lonesome Moan," matching it to the subtlest of electronic percussion, and returns to his awesome Simon & Garfunkel impersonation for the serene "Manson Twins." You want so badly for him to deliver the entirety of the traditional "Mary of the Wild Moor" a cappella, as he does on the first verse. The recording's fuzz, his own fragile timbre, the way he almost runs out of air on "or my child will surely die" -- it's arresting. But Pajo also moves from bared soul to clever pop in the flutter of an eyelash. "Baby Please Come Home" is the album's most ambitious arrangement, layering various guitar effects, electronic clicks, and yearning vocal harmony for an otherworldly take on teen idol pop -- the Clientele covering Gene Pitney, maybe? The gravity and changing tides of this engaging self-titled effort help David Pajo warm up, if not transcend the post-rock tag.