To judge by Dan Bejar's singing style, the equivalent of a stranger whispering in your ear to be heard over a crowd, it's easy to picture the Vancouver musician as a cross between Joel Grey and Space Oddity-era David Bowie, except he's neither a dapper song-and-dance man nor a starry-eyed glam rocker. It's just that he italicizes every lyric like an alien struggling to emulate the human concept of sincerity—and failing spectacularly. Even as a member of power-pop collective the New Pornographers, Bejar's songs stand alone, sounding as if they drifted over from one of his 10 studio albums, such as the excellent, NYC-inspired Poison Season. If you don't get it, don't worry. Bejar is a Brechtian device disguised as a chamber-pop troubadour. by Kathy Fennessy