Three long pieces intimately for nylon-stringed guitar and voice. One man's fertile repetition; another woman's goes on a bit. Youngs abandons avant garde impulse to the extent that plaintive vocals conjure up semi-namesake Neil Young in extended eco-lament mode. Floats on and on over hypnotic arpeggios contemplating memory, nostalgia and loss. Songs unfold, stretch and breath in the silences. Beautiful and, given the chance, quietly obsessive.