Slate gushes over Jens Lekman today in a fanboy piece that is so self-deprecating and honest that it doesn’t seem to offend on any level, despite its reckless superlative-tossing (“Lekman is a fully realized pop genius, and each of his full-length records is its own masterpiece”). Focusing on Lekman’s lyrical gift of gab, author Stephen Metcalf finds some clever turns of phrase that would invariably make even Stephin Merritt jealous (“Maple Leaves”):

“She said it was all make-believe
but I thought you said maple leaves
and when she talked about a fall
I thought she talked about a season
I never understood at all

I thought she said maple leaves
and when she talked about the fall
I thought she talked about Mark E Smith
I never understood at all”

Lekman appeals to the more learned of the white, middle-to-upper-class tech-savvy indie rock consumers- the ones who veer towards the overtly precious twee of The Magnetic Fields, Belle & Sebastian, and even Morrissey, so his niche audience is unlikely to widen, even with such an endearingly quotable catalog. But Metcalf’s 4-year-old daughter loves him, so, perhaps, there’s hope. Lekman’s latest record, Night Falls Over Kortadala, just came out this month on Secretly Canadian.