In his study of the Welsh language, J.R.R. Tolkien was most pleased by its beauty, the appearance and sound of the words irrespective of their meaning.

He once remarked, "Most English-speaking people, for instance, will admit that cellar door is 'beautiful,' especially if dissociated from its sense (and from its spelling)."

Which, in one respect, characterizes how John Vanderslice's Cellar Door operates, diving into subjects like war, death and family problems with enthusiasm and unexpected joy.

Yet to limit an examination of the album in this way is dismissive, lazy and mildly insulting. Cellar Door finds the indie rock singer-songwriter taking his songs to a new personal level, immersing himself with an autobiographical sensibility, and their resulting poignancy and yearning is magnified by his analog studio perfectionism.

"From the haunts of daily life/where is waged the daily strife/common wants and common cares/cuts the human heart with tears," opens the album's lead track "Pale Horse," laying the groundwork for what's to come, with Vanderslice's vocals punctuating the smoky haze of his trademark "sloppy hi-fi" production. On "They Won't Let Me Run," he sings, "One day I fell in love/and of course we fucked around/the morning she threw up/my options were all laid out," crafting his family-phobic narrative as skillfully as the gorgeous violin hook that drives it.

But for all its morbidness, this is ultimately an uplifting album. Vanderslice continues to make his dark visions accessible, and the journey through his Cellar Door may lead into hell, but not without a good pair of headphones.

-- Reviewed by David Tatasciore