There’s a haunting desert-cantina-of-the-soul quality to the songs on Kevin Morby’s third solo studio album. “If you find water, please call my name,” he sings on “Water.” The songs are meta-musical—about unforgettable songs, or menacing singing saws or the sound of an old piano. The theme of losing one’s mind pops up a few times, too. But it’s not really a record about madness. Morby has been carving out his own stark and poetic place since leaving Woods. Leonard Cohen is still the dominant stylistic connection, particularly with the somber half-spoken vocals, but Morby does something interesting with repetition in his lyrics, turning them into hypnotic incantations. The Velvet Underground come to mind, too, as does Self-Portrait-era Dylan, with the gospel-tinged female backing vocals. Morby is a master of brooding songs that pivot between two chords, with the tension provided by lyrical detail, open spaces or vocal harmonies. Rain, storms, plants, gardens and mystical animals populate many of these songs. Not long ago, Morby moved into a house with an old piano, and he started teaching himself how to play while writing these songs. His skeletal, descending playing accents numbers like “Ferris Wheel.”