Xian Man

There is a coiled, sidewinding quality to this track — Malkmus runs his guitar through something slightly corroded-sounding, the notes bending away from where you expect them to land. The rhythm section doesn't so much drive the song as drift alongside it, unhurried and a little loose-limbed. Tempos in his solo work tend to breathe rather than march, and this is no exception: the song lopes forward with the confidence of someone who doesn't particularly care if you keep up. His voice operates in that characteristic register he's occupied since Pavement — wry, slightly nasal, delivering syllables with a detached precision that makes it hard to tell if he's being sincere or performing sincerity for his own amusement. The lyrics circle around something without quite landing on it, offering images that feel meaningful in the moment and dissolve on examination. There's a tradition here — West Coast post-punk intellectualism filtered through classic rock muscle, the kind of song that rewards people who think guitar solos can carry philosophical weight. You'd put this on late at night when you want to feel clever without working too hard for it, driving somewhere unimportant, windows down, enjoying your own taste.