Cass McCombs has that vocal quality that sounds like he’s not trying hard at all, effortless and occasionally breathy and spacious. He makes singer-songwriter fare that feels dusty and worn and warm, whose maker you can picture having that sort of tousled, just-out-of-bed, never-brushed-but-probably-washed sort of hair. It’s easygoing folkadelia, not hard to like, and maybe you’ll love it, because it reminds you of something on the tip of your brain that you just can’t place. Which is ironic considering the title of his ninth and latest album, Tip of the Sphere. RIYL: John Cale, Kurt Vile, Phosphorescent. by Leilani Polk